


Bad moon rising

by birbteef



Series: Bad Moon Rising [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bloodborne Fusion, Angst and Tragedy, Beta Read, Blood and Violence, But not in a sexual nature, Dark, Death, Gen, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, Mind Control, Monsters, Non-Consensual Touching, Possession, Transformation, Whump, you do not need to know bloodborne lore to read this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbteef/pseuds/birbteef
Summary: Threatened with the choice of banishment or death, Aziraphale must work his way through a foreign land battling a strange plague. He soon meets a dark stranger, and learns far more than he cares for of the hunt.Completed. (You do not need to know bloodborne lore to read this fic.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bad Moon Rising [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861153
Comments: 213
Kudos: 596





	1. Hello, Crowley

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Восходит скверная луна (Bad moon rising)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25277731) by [manufuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manufuck/pseuds/manufuck)



> So I had this chapter posted earlier but I realized it’s not accessible to people who don’t know bloodborne lore so I got it beta’d and reworked and it should be understandable now. 
> 
> I’m going to have Aziraphale be from dark souls but honestly it’s in name only. You will not need to know a single thing about dark souls, I just need him to be an outsider looking in. 
> 
> Thank you to spaceweeb for being a good beta

  
  


"I don't want to kill anyone." Was the sentence that kept running through Aziraphale's mind ever since he got here. He was an outsider, from a land far to the South. The locals reminded him of that at every chance they got, as if it were reasonable for them to ostracize him given their own strange customs. He understood the issues back home, but here? There was no one with the same afflictions he had. They had no reason to outcast him.

He was here to find a cure for the diseases that kept roiling over his homelands. They had plenty of their own problems and certainly didn't need diseases from the north adding to that. Everyone knew the blood afflictions started out of this place, the dark magic and rituals that would turn men to beasts had started here. 

But he didn't want to kill anyone. And that was what Gabriel had seemingly wanted him to do. His task was nebulous, a cure could be many things. The affliction was with the blood, so Aziraphale thought he should set up a clinic and set about to doing research. But no. They hadn't given him that. They'd given him a waxed cloak and a sword that spit fire and sent him North to figure things out. 

The people here didn't like him, the streets were dark and dirty, and the only solace he'd found was in this single bar that let him in. He didn't need to rest, not like the rest of them did, but he did need some simple human interaction. Some conversation to keep his wits about him. 

He was one man, what could one man hope to do? He'd been staring at the drink he bought for a while, wondering if it was actually drinkable or not. He brought the liquor to his mouth.

"I wouldn't drink that." A smooth voice came from behind.

He turned to see a tall but thin man, a dark wax feather cloak dripping off of him with clear bits of blood dried to the ends. His face was covered by a bird mask, revealing only his mouth and keeping the eyes hidden. He was ghoulish. He was also the only person who's willingly spoken to Aziraphale since he arrived. 

"Who are you?" Aziraphale asked, setting the drink away from himself. "Who's to say what I should and shouldn't drink?"

"They put blood in them." The figure stepped closer and gestured towards the glass. Aziraphale recognized a slight Western accent. Another foreigner like himself, then. "In the drinks, I mean. It's blood."

Aziraphale's face soured quickly at that. "Why?" He pushed the glass away from himself.

The stranger laughed and took a seat next to him. "I knew you were a Good Man the moment I laid eyes on you. These beasts don't seem to know the blood is the problem."

"Well it's just unsanitary is what it is. Drinking blood, how foul. I knew of the ministrations and the injections but...eugh." Aziraphale shuddered to think of what he'd already ingested. He was lucky, he supposed, that so many places had turned him away else he'd have consumed much more. Not that he thought it would do much to him. 

The stranger looked over his clothes, taking in the soft light color palette decorated in wing motifs. "More than just unsanitary..." the dark man replied without knowing his name. "That's dark magic there. You're wise to be wary of the healing blood."

"It's gross."

"I'm just saying you should be afraid of it for other reasons than because it's gross!"

"But it is gross."

"Aye, yes. It is." The stranger laughed again, "can I get your name?"

"You first." Aziraphale replied warily. 

The stranger leaned back and even though Aziraphale couldn't see his face he could tell he was being sized up. "Crowley."

"Oh, thematic. What with the crow feather cape and beak mask and all. Well done." Aziraphale said genuinely nicely. 

Crowley frowned, as if that hadn't been the purpose at all. "Oh, you flatter me angel, but I'm afraid you're far too kind for a place like this."

Aziraphale was momentarily confused about the angel comment before remembering his own cape was shaped like two wings at the back. With the white and beige color palette he must look...churchy, "Aziraphale." He finally responded. "And you don't know me or what I'm here for. I may be kind but I know what my purpose is, and it doesn’t involve kindness." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

Crowley looked at him before waving his hand for Aziraphale to continue. “And what is that?”

“What is what?”

“Your purpose, Aziraphale. Why are you here?”

Aziraphale hadn’t expected to actually be questioned. “I’m here for a cure. To either find it or make it. And I cannot go home until it's done."

Crowley frowned next to him, "Aziraphale, I hate to corrupt your definition of kindness, but that is a kind endeavor. However...there is no cure for this."

Whether Crowley was speaking of the beasthood or Aziraphale's own afflictions he wasn't sure. Aziraphale sighed, "I know! I know. It's banishment is what it is. They need me gone so they can play their little court games and bask in bureaucracy. They gave me a sword! I’m a member of the clergy; I haven’t used a weapon since I was a rowdy young man! I'd rather have a nice book, thank you."

Crowley watched him rant as if he didn't quite get what Aziraphale was talking about. "...you do know of the hunt, right?"

"No I surely don't." 

"Oh, Aziraphale. The hunt is on. Tonight is a red Moon and you would be wise to stay inside.”

"Inside what? None of the inns will let me in, it's a bloody miracle this bar even let me in."

Crowley got up as he chewed at his lip. Aziraphale took note of how his teeth seemed awfully sharp. "Then come with me. I'll be taking part in the hunt but you'll be safer with me than you would be alone."

“Now hang on a minute! I’m not going anywhere with you!” Aziraphale exclaimed. 

Crowley sauntered back to where Aziraphale was seated, “Then where will you go when this bar closes?”

The main problem with the argument against going with him was that Crowley seemed pleasant enough. Aziraphale stammered around for a reason and didn’t find one, “Fine, sure, alright I guess, not like I'm doing anything else, but what...is the hunt? Exactly? You need to tell me what I’ve just gotten myself into. Also why the hell do you want me to come with you in the first place?

“I want you to come with me because you’ll talk to me instead of just ignoring me or yelling for me to leave like the locals do.” Crowley jerked his head to beckon Aziraphale out of the bar. "The hunt is...well. let's back up. Okay. We are in the center of Yharnam, where men turn to beasts because of diseases in bad blood. But!" He held his arms wide and did a little spin, "you might notice we are not surrounded by beasts."

"I suppose." Aziraphale nodded along. 

"Folks like me, uh, well no, let's not start there. Let's start with the church. The local church hires people to take care of the beasts. Which is clearly what you're here for. It's awfully cruel of your people to send you here dressed like that with no clue what it is you're supposed to do. I'd suspect your church and this one had some kind of communication deal for outsourced hunters. It's not terribly uncommon."

Aziraphale suspected something like that was going on but he said nothing. 

At the lack of response Crowley started up again, "So you might think! Hmm! Sure are a lot of people going around getting covered in beast blood all the time. Maybe something bad will happen. That's where I come in."

"You...hunt men?"

"They're not men anymore. A beast is a beast, no matter how noble the man he once was."

"But they're still humans!" Aziraphale cried out. "You're a murderer!"

"I am not!" Crowley stamped his foot and made a quick turn to face Aziraphale. "If it weren't for people like me every single citizen would be long dead by now. The only thing worse than a beast is a beast that knows how to use a gun. And these people are clearly having enough trouble without that threat looming over their heads."

Aziraphale bit his tongue from saying any more. The last thing he needed was to make this man who had offered him help and safety decide he'd be better stabbed in a gutter. He didn't want to deal with being stabbed right now. 

"But anyway…" Crowley backed off and turned to keep walking. "Tonight is a blood Moon. I haven't figured out what it means, or why it happens, but the transfigurations happen much faster tonight. Stay with me or...y'know."

"I'm not sure that'll be much of an issue. I don't want to kill anyone." Aziraphale murmured under his breath. 

"I'm not asking you to kill anyone. I'm asking you to stay by my side. I'll do the killing." He made a weird face that Aziraphale realized only later was him winking with half his face covered. 

"Where are we headed to then?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley slowed his pace and turned back to Aziraphale. "Do you know how to use that?" He gestured to the sword.

"Unfortunately." Aziraphale replied. 

Crowley nodded. "Keep yourself safe, don't bother going after anything I'll take care of that. I'm taking you to the cathedral ward. You may be able to find something you're looking for. Not a cure but...something."

Aziraphale was familiar with church goings on at least. If he really had been sent here as some kind of monetary trade then...we’ll he was just going to have to be unhappy about it. “You said the church sponsors these hunters?”

“I believe so, yeah.” Crowley peeked around a corner before ushering them along down the corridor. 

“And the church also administers the blood that causes this plague in the first place?”

“Uh, yeah. Think so.”

Aziraphale frowned, not understanding what that meant but knowing something about it wasn’t right. “That seems...roundabout, doesn’t it?”

“How do you mean? They’re solving the problem aren’t they?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed, “Solving the problem would involve teaching people maybe they shouldn’t be drinking blood and just getting infusions whenever they want.”

Crowley gave him a grin, “yeah? Sounds like you’re pretty opinionated on it.”

“I think I-” Aziraphale was cut off by Crowley shoving his arm out, stopping him in his tracks. He almost protested before seeing what Crowley was stopping him for. It was a man, or a man at one point. Aziraphale was only distantly aware of the beasts, they were a concept that he knew were spreading out from the area. The actual seeing of one was far more harrowing than he thought it would be. He understood how Crowley could forget they were men.

The worst part was that he wasn’t doing anything. A man doesn’t stand and stare at a wall for hours on end. Maybe the beasts weren’t as much men as he previously thought. He watched as Crowley drew his weapon from beneath the cloak, a slender cane with a sharp edge and a vicious point at the bottom. The beast turned to look at them and Aziraphale screamed.

He hadn’t realized he’d crouched down until he felt a gentle hand at his back. He pulled his hands from his eyes only to see the creature in a slump on the ground and a growing pool of blood beneath it. “Oh, God.” He murmured. 

“Come on,” Crowley’s voice was strained, “let’s get you up.”

Aziraphale let himself be manhandled to his feet, too aware of the fresh blood in Crowley’s wax feathers and the gentle hands holding him upright. “This is what you do then?” He asked.

“Eh, yeah, but it gets worse. This wasn't so bad.” Crowley let him go and started up again. Aziraphale gripped his sword and brought it out in front of himself. He couldn’t be a coward right now. He was in this place whether he liked it or not and the last thing he wanted to be was a burden. “That’s, hooo, that’s a strange sword Angel.”

“Is strange good or bad? It was given to me from the Church, the Church where I’m from not this church here, heavens no. It's a really nice sword even though i’m just a friar, technically.” He could tell Crowley didn’t care so he stopped with the backstory. “It’s a holy sword. Spits fire and everything.”

Behind the mask Crowley was thinking something but he apparently decided not to say anything about it, “I think in this instance strange is good. I told you earlier I thought you were a Good Man. I do recognize your outfit, after all.”

Aziraphale practically beamed at him. “You’d be the first.”

Crowley snorted. “I also know what you are though.”

Aziraphale’s smile faltered a little bit. The last thing he needed was more conflict. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Crowley beckoned him to keep walking, needing to get to their destination. “Churches don’t send Good Men on suicide missions. Which means you’re either a meddler or a sinner. Somehow, I think you’re the former.”

Aziraphale let out a great sigh of relief, “I am known to enjoy a good bit of dinner and spend an afternoon sleeping, but for the most part I’d say you’re right.”

Crowley grinned at him, those sharp teeth catching Aziraphale’s eye in a different way this time, “I’d love to hear about it, if you’re willing.”

“It’s not often a long winded bloke like me gets asked to tell my life story are you actually sure about that decision, Crowley?”

Crowley laughed again, and Aziraphale was pleased that if nothing else he seemed to be a constant source of amusement for this man. “Yeah, I wanna know how you fucked up so bad they sent you to hell. I am bringing you with me, after all.”

“Oh that’s...oh.” Aziraphale hadn’t considered viewing it like that. 

“How about this, you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine. What’s more strange than me picking you up at a bar and bringing you along is the fact you’ve just agreed to it. You don’t know who I am, has it occurred to you that maybe you ought to ask?”

It hadn’t occurred to Aziraphale but now that Crowley brought up the fact, he was instantly more wary of him. “I- I suppose you’re right.” he trailed off and thought about that sentiment. 

The whole area they were walking through looked absolutely destroyed, broken wood and debris lined the streets where clearly some fight or riot had occurred. Aziraphale caught sight of a lone baby carriage and had to force himself not to check in it. He knew he wouldn't enjoy the outcome, no matter what it was. 

Then they climbed up and up so many steps Aziraphale's knees started to hurt. At the end he could see over the whole city, somehow looking peaceful in the sharp orange glow of a dying sun. He realized then that it was a bridge, spanning the length of two fields at least. A gigantic and horrifying beast's dead body lay prone in the middle of it. 

Crowley walked up to the creature and kicked it before shrugging. “You get these sometimes, great big bastards full of blood. Can’t imagine what someone does to deserve this.”

Aziraphale stared at it’s dead eyes, wondering offhandedly who this man must have been. Maybe he was a good man once too? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter, but he hated to think that. “I told the head priest we shouldn’t go to war.” He finally said.

Crowley turned back to look at him, “yea?”

Aziraphale nodded and turned away from the bridge beast, hurrying after Crowley. “That's why I was sent here. Gabriel wants a crusade to prove the power of the light. And I...I cannot accept that.”

“Ah, so you are a worshipper of Gwyn?”

Aziraphale’s face soured, “I never said that.”

Crowley looked him up and down; taking in Aziraphale’s clothes and smiled softly, “Of course not.”

They walked in silence for a good moment, the admission that Aziraphale knew he was doomed on purpose hung thick between them. The golden orange glow of the sunset was starting to hide behind the buildings, covering the streets in stretching shadows. Aziraphale held his sword tight, staring at shadows as they stretched and bent. 

The streets changed somewhat, Misty and dank clouds swathed over the streets from the hot sewers below. Aziraphale screwed his face up each time they passed through one, trying not to breathe. 

They passed more bodies, more destruction, but not another living thing besides the two of them. Aziraphale didn't know how he had been so lucky to take the road into town that he did. He hadn't seen this destruction yet, and each new atrocity he saw made him grip his sword all the more tightly. 

After a terrifying elevator and another short bridge before them, a great graveyard stretched up from the ground, broken and twisted in a way no human would ever design. Another terrible beastly body lay in the middle of it stretched across the graves. "Are you sure we're going the right way?" Aziraphale asked.

"Unfortunately, yes." Crowley replied. "Shh-" he ducked down and grabbed Aziraphale with him. "What is that?" 

Before them, the ground seemed to stir. Small ripples ran through the surface and lifted the grass like a mole. Aziraphale watched as a white gelatinous substance seemed to ooze out of the ground.

It formed into a shape with a sharp precision that no inanimate object possesses, casting off a wretched stink of rot and mold. Aziraphale found himself transfixed in watching it gather itself up.

It was like no monster either of them had ever seen, and the presence of it seemed to bore itself into Aziraphale's mind. Look at it and despair. Look at it and weep. He tore his eyes away and willed himself not to succumb to whatever madness this thing was leaking out. 

Crowley, it seemed, was having a worse time of it. Aziraphale could see tear tracks leaking from below the mask. He was unable to look away from the monster, his breathing started to pick up as sheer panic overcame him. Look at it and know fear. 

Aziraphale knew he needed to act. He needed to take care of whatever the hell this was. They'd given him a sword so he could go get himself killed. But the sword was his, for him, of him, because of him, and he would not be a coward.

He stood up and bolted from the grave they were hiding behind, banking to the left around the creature. With a single swift motion light erupted from the blade in an electric arc, spitting fire and light towards the beast. 

It responded with a swiftness unknown to Aziraphale. It was a whirlwind of twisting sludge and flesh. Then the smell hit him, an undeniable stench of rot and decay as the creature spin towards him. 

He brought the sword up and let his training take control. He hadn't been taught how to fight monsters, but at one point in his life he had been a guard. He knew how to use a sword, no matter how much he didn't want to. 

He stuck it deep within the twisting rot and let the electric lightning out, watching it arc through the monster. 

Then, blessedly, Crowley was there as well. He was over whatever temporary madness had him and plunged his cane deep into the other side of the creature, sweeping it to the side to tear a massive hole out of the thing. 

Aziraphale felt the rot climb up his arms and cover his legs. A horrible burning sensation overcame him and he felt himself screaming as he let loose more of the fire lightning. 

He fell then, overwhelmed by the rotten sludge enveloping him whole. Crowley didn't back off from slashing at the creature. He kept making harsh strikes against it's back as Aziraphale started to hold his breath, releasing one last burst of lightning. 

And then, just as quickly as it started, the rot began to ebb away. It melted into the dirt and soil, turning the plants black with death as it went. 

Aziraphale gasped for air. Oh, blessed air. He looked over to Crowley, watching as he stabbed himself in the thigh with something. Aziraphale sat there catching his breath before looking his body down. He was covered in burns, the acid of the creature had left his clothes alone but had eaten through his skin in several places. His hands were the worst of it. Blisters and craters of missing flesh covered them, but he could feel the burnt skin all the way up to his neck where the foul thing had slithered its way across his body.

Aziraphale bit his lip and tried to ignore the pain. He had something for this. He reached to the side of his belt and pulled out a small golden vial. The glow of it was heavenly and gentle. If nothing else it was a reminder that there are good things in this awful world. 

He drank it down quickly, letting the magic run through his ruined body and knit the skin back together. He hadn't realized Crowley was watching him till he looked up, meeting the mask with his eyes. 

He gave a grin and Crowley grinned back. "Good job, Angel." He helped Aziraphale up in silence, patting him gently on the back before stooping down to inspect the ground where the creature disappeared. "It's polluted this whole area. The soils all rotten now." There was a little wisp of something and Crowley grabbed it, taking whatever ephemeral matter was left over into his hands. 

"At least it's a graveyard." Aziraphale replied. "Not like they're going to be growing crops here."

Crowley grinned up at him and stood again, holding his hand out for Aziraphale to take something. "No, I guess not."

It was a crown, heavy with iron and made black with tarnish and rust. Aziraphale took it in his hands before putting it on his head with a shrug and a wiggle. "If nothing else then I'll have a souvenir. Eh?"

Crowley gave him a very large grin. "Suits you."

They kept moving past the massive deformed graves back into a more urban environment. 

“How about myself then?” Crowley broke the silence. “You must be curious about my story since we were interrupted before we were finished.”

“I wasn’t till you told me I shouldn’t trust you and now I don’t trust you.” Aziraphale replied jokingly. He probably trusted Crowley more than most people at this point. 

Crowley barked a laugh at that, his amusement at Aziraphale growing again. “I won’t hurt you but you can trust me as much as you trust any stranger. How much you trust strangers is on you.”

“Then tell me about yourself, Crowley. Why are you in this hell?”

“Well Aziraphale I’m glad you asked. I’m here because I think I’m in a cult and they told me to.”

“What do you mean you think you’re in a cult? You either are or you aren’t!”

“Well that’s the thing about cults, isn’t it? You join up as a dirty little shithead and you finally have friends and family who love you and want the best for you. And then suddenly you’re dressed like a crow killing goo and collecting wayward souls. Believe me, this is not where I thought I’d end up. I mean, I’m glad I’m not dead somewhere covered in my own druggy vomit but I can’t see how this is actually much better.”

Aziraphale felt himself pale at the statement. “What happens if...you refuse to do this?”

“Then I’ll be back to square one, won’t I?” Crowley replied. “Always kinda knew it was a façade, but it was nice to pretend for a while.”

“You can come south with me! You don’t have to go back there!”

Crowley stopped walking and sighed. “Aziraphale, you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?"

Crowley sighed again and scratched his head, “Because when I told you I know what you are, I was being serious. I know what you are. You're already dead. I can't go with you."

Aziraphale took a frightened step back from him. 

Crowley spoke again, “Things like you...don’t exist here. This black magic that reanimated you is entirely out of my experience. I can't trust you much as you can't trust me.”

“Then why are you helping me?” Aziraphale asked with a voice that betrayed his confidence. His hands were starting to shake and he held them close to his body, curling around himself.

“Because despite everything I've been told, I don’t think you’re evil.” Crowley turned to him. 

Aziraphale cast his eyes downward, "you might be the first then."

Crowley reached up to take his mask off. 

His eyes were monstrous. Golden yellow with dark slits breaking down the middle. Black scales peppered his cheekbones and Aziraphale noticed the scales also covered the backs of his hands as he removed his gloves. A beast. A monster.

But those eyes. Those eyes bore into him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. 

Crowley spoke carefully, “You told me you think the beasts are men. I told you a beast is a beast. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“They’re still men. Somewhere deep down.”

“No one else here thinks that, so it means a lot. Especially coming from someone like you. I'm sure you've had more to fret and worry over your own morality and existence than I ever will."

Aziraphale wrung his hands, unsure where to proceed. “How can you even tell that I'm...y'know?”

“Your eyes, actually.” Crowley smiled and slipped the mask back on. “You’ve managed to make the rest of you lovely, really job well done. But your eyes are dead.”

“And you think I’m still human?”

“Yeah, I wasn't wrong about you being a Good Man. I think you’re more human than most of this lot.” Crowley turned to keep walking. “But I can't go with you."

Aziraphale nodded sadly, "I understand."

"By the way, Aziraphale. Uh. If I attack you at some point it would be in your best interest to kill me."

Aziraphale laughed then for the first time since their meeting. "That's not going to be a problem. You might be able to hurt me but you can't kill what's already dead. I'm not hollow. It'll take a bit more than a cane to keep me down."

Crowley looked him up and down, clearly trying to piece this Information together. "Wot?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. You'll be a good beastie yet." He paused then, thinking about his words. "How did you get afflicted with this? You don't look like you're becoming some wolf man?"

"Frankly I did the same thing you did. Came into town, got a few drinks at a bar. Started killing things, didn't use proper protection, didn't know what I was doing. I figured it out quick, as you do. But I'd already fucked up." He gave a grave smile to Aziraphale. 

"But the...scales?"

"Oh that I have no idea. Some…" he sighed, "some people just...turn into different things. I don't know why. I don't know how. Obviously I'm going to be a right mean bastard, but...at least it's slowed down. I've looked like this for a while now with no other real changes."

"Maybe you stopped just in time."

"I'm rather hoping I did." Crowley seemed unconvinced. "If you're really looking for a cure for this, I'll assist you." 

"I really am. I've either got to find a cure or die trying. And I'd rather not die trying because it'll take a lot of nonsense to make that happen."

"And what if you just leave?"

sighed and stepped over some fallen debris "I don't know. If I return home empty handed they'll jail me, if I just run away...well." he gave a soft and wistful sigh. "I do fancy running away. But They'd find me. They always find the runaways."


	2. The crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to commanderryroe for betaing

  
Aziraphale scratched at his head where the crown sat, “so you think the moon is to blame for this disease?”

“...Maybe,” Crowley shrugged and climbed over a dislodged piece of wall. He turned around to help Aziraphale up the rubble. “It sounds dumb when you say it like that. Like the moon is causing it, that’s stupid. Moon disease, pah.”

Aziraphale grabbed his hand to climb up with him. “Not- Not causing it. I don’t think the moon sat down and said ‘hmm I think I’ll make the humans sick today’ you know.” He gave a small puff of a sigh. “But you said the moon is...associated.”

Crowley snorted. “I just know it gets worse when the moon goes all funky and red, can’t tell you anything besides that.” He let go of Aziraphale's hand to keep walking ahead of him and scout out their route. “I don’t actually know much of anything about this affliction other than it’s spread through the blood.”

“Me either.” Aziraphale followed him quickly. “We both know my task is nebulous and quite possibly unattainable but...thank you for your help regardless.”

Crowley looked over his shoulder and if his face wasn’t covered Aziraphale would have thought he looked surprised at the thanks. “Uh, you’re welcome…” he jut his jaw forward and stopped walking, letting Aziraphale catch up the couple of paces he was behind. “When you said you’d be jailed or something if you don’t fix this, were you being serious?”

Aziraphale’s slight grin fell. “Yes. They’ll have to find me, but I’m afraid they’ve got a lot of time on their hands. They-and I mean my church leaders when I say ‘they,’ not some random they- they've sent me here as a punishment, and apparently told the local church I'll do some beastie killing for them without informing me of that. They’re not interested in helping anyone here, you know.”

“Mm?” Crowley made a noise to keep Aziraphale talking, trying to figure out which direction they were heading.

“They just don’t want this disease spreading south. They have actual doctors working on it, real qualified people to be doing research. I'm not qualified to do this kind of thing at all! I don't know a thing about diseases or pathogens other than what the common man knows. And they know that, oh of course they do. Of course-”

Crowley slowed down somewhat and stuck his arm out, slowing Aziraphale as well. He swiped his hand down. “Keep talking, just quieter,” He murmured.

Aziraphale scratched at the crown again. “I’m not sure what happens if they solve it before I do, or if another third party does. It would be foolish to think there aren’t educated doctors doing research on this right here in Yharnam. Especially since I don’t even know what I’m doing. I can’t even bandage a wound you know? All I do is drink estus and woohoo there you go I’m a new man. Fill my body with fire and all that."

Crowley clearly wasn’t paying attention to him at this point, having walked over to an edge, peering down at a gross sewer beneath them. “Angel, I think we have to go down there.”

“Oh no we surely don’t,” Aziraphale scoffed. “There is a whole city here and you’re telling me you want to go into a sewer? We know this plague is spread by body fluids!”

Crowley grimaced and turned to him. “It’s all blocked off,” He gestured back to the rubble they’d just traversed through. “I’ve been looking for another way through but...I think we have to go under it.”

Aziraphale looked back in the direction they came from, “Are you sure?”

“You’re acting like I want to go stomping around in shit water. I’d take the rooftops but I don’t think you could do it. No offense to you.”

“What like leaping from roof to roof?”

Crowley grinned, “Yea. I got long legs.”

Aziraphale frowned down at himself. "Dunno how I'd even get on a roof to be honest. But really the sewers?”

Crowley nodded. “Seems the only way through.”

Aziraphale let out an absolutely pathetic whine, but stepped up next to Crowley anyway. “Well, how do we get down there then?”

“You know how I told you that you can’t trust me?” Crowley asked, stepping closer to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes swept up Crowley’s form, a slight hitch in his breath came forth at the close proximity. “Y-yes?”

“I need you to trust me now. You won’t like it though,” Crowley said. Before Aziraphale could respond Crowley reached out and grabbed him, lifting with a monsterous force that betrayed his human nature.

Aziraphale screamed as Crowley jumped down into the ravine below. Aziraphale's desperate hands clutched at his chest and buried his face into the wax feathers as they fell. He shrieked again as Crowley landed hard in the sewer beneath.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screamed. "What the fuck!"

Crowley laughed nervously and set Aziraphale down. He made no show of attention to the way Aziraphale’s hands took a second longer to dislodge themselves from his coat. “If I told you we were going to jump, you’d have said no.”

“That doesn’t mean pick me up and jump down anyway! What is wrong with you?”

Crowley didn’t respond, just shot Aziraphale a cheeky grin and stepped forwards into the sewer. The water was shallower than Aziraphale expected, but he still loathed following Crowley into the damp corridor.

Aziraphale pulled his sword out and lit the blaze, letting the fire light their path.

Aziraphale pointedly ignored the stink of the water and the very obviously dead things floating around them. If he brought himself to care even for a moment he knew his resolve would fade. As a guard he'd been taught to suffer misfortune in a stoic manner. This was really starting to toe the line though.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” Crowley said after they’d been walking for a few minutes. “We need to find a place to hold up for a little bit.”

Aziraphale cocked his head in confusion and ran up alongside his partner, “What do you mean?”

“There’s no beasts here.”

“Thankfully. Though if you’re suggesting we make a campsite in the sewer I’m going to leave you,” Aziraphale joked.

Crowley turned to him, his mouth was drawn thin with either anxiety or wariness. “No, I’m thinking a hunter has been through here. I’d rather not run into them on the night of the hunt.”

A cold chill ran down Aziraphale’s back. “Will they attack us?”

“Who’s to say. There’s two of us, so if they’re alone and smart we’ll be safe. We make a pretty good team, you and I.”

Aziraphale turned his head to hide the slight blush forming in his cheeks. Not that he thought Crowley could see it with his mask and the dark of the sewer. “But if there’s a hunter around, then at least there’s no beasts.”

“None but yours truly,” Crowley replied. “Which, actually, can you even get the plague? With your whole...already dead thing?”

Aziraphale thought about that and ignored a facedown body in the water. His crown started to itch again and he gave it a hard dig of a scratch, “You know? I’m not sure. I don’t really even have blood any more.”

“Yes you do, I saw you bleeding when we fought that goo.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “That’s- I mean- there’s blood in this body, yes. It’s not like it’s moving though. My heart doesn’t beat, there’s no, uh, circulation. I move around with the power of the holy flame.”

Crowley nodded slowly, clearly not really understanding. “So you can’t get sick. Like if your fluids aren’t moving, you’re not going to be moving a sickness through your body right?”

“I suppose. I’d rather not test it out though. I’ve already got one affliction I don’t need another.”

“Wait then why are you breathing?”

“What?”

“You’re breathing. Why?”

“I guess I’m just used to it. I know I don’t have to; I just like to. Same reason I like a drink now and then I guess,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“How’d you die then?”

Aziraphale turned to him and scowled. “You ask a lot of questions. Weren’t we talking about setting up for the night due to the hunt?”

“Yeah, but we can’t do that ‘til we get out of the sewer, can we?”

“I just don’t think I need to answer that. You have no business knowing how I died.”

“Fair enough, Angel,” Crowley replied softly, clearly willing to concede defeat on the topic. They walked in silence for nearly twenty more minutes before Crowley shot his arm out, pointing to a ladder. “Salvation at last.”

“You going to carry me up there too?” Aziraphale finally broke his silence, willing to joke with Crowley again.

Crowley seemed surprised and turned to him. “Do you want me to?”

“What? Oh, no. No I- you carried me down here I just. Oh. It was a joke, I’m afraid it didn’t land well.” He turned his face to hide the flush again, more nervous now that Crowley was looking directly at him. “I’m fine, no.”

Crowley tipped his head back and laughed a full chested bark of a laugh at Aziraphale’s stammering. “Alright! Alright. Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale went first up the ladder, poking his head up into an empty street. He had the keen feeling that Crowley was watching him on his way up, but for what reason he wasn’t sure.

He looked around the streets as Crowley made his way up, noticing how the sun had actually gone down while they were in the sewers. The night was so thick and dark overhead Aziraphale could barely make out the tops of the towering buildings. “Where are we now?” He asked as Crowley pulled himself out of the manhole.

“We are…” Crowley picked himself out of the sewer and spun around, trying to figure out where they were. “Fuck, I- I don’t…know?”

Aziraphale glowered at him. “Well, I’m going to need you to find out right quick.”

“We...we didn’t make any turns I don’t understand.” Crowley scratched at the back of his head. “It should have just been a straight shot through and then, nnnnngh uh, you know, we’d be there.” Crowley ripped his hat off to tug at his hair in frustration as Aziraphale simply watched. “We must have just overshot it. Which means...what does that mean? I don’t know?"

Aziraphale sighed and placed a gentle hand on Crowley’s chest, taking his hat from his worried hands and setting it back on his head, covering the messed up hair. Aziraphale noted that it was a lovely shade of red and stored that info in the back of his mind for mulling about later. “So we walked too far. We can backtrack over top of the sewer, right? You said you normally take the rooftops. You should recognize something at some point if we just trace our steps over top of the sewer line.”

Crowley took a deep breath and nodded. He looked at the sewer entrance and then back at the houses they were surrounded by. “Right. Yes, you’re right. Of course.”

Aziraphale kept his eye on Crowley as the man started to move back in the direction they came from. Aziraphale hadn’t even started walking with him before he heard the sharp skittering noise coming from the side.

He was slammed into an adjacent wall with such force he felt something in his chest crack. His eyesight went red from the shock and pain, unable to move against the pressing force. He turned to look at his attacker and had his head grabbed by his hair and smashed into the wall three times in quick succession. A great welling came from within himself and he felt the stagnant blood unwillingly rush into his mouth from his chest.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure was gone. He fell to the ground in a heap, struggling to turn and see his assailant.

All he saw was Crowley. Oh, bless him. He was so fast, darting and weaving around the other figure. Aziraphale felt his head swimming as though he was inebriated. He needed to get up and help Crowley fight but when he tried to move his arms beneath himself the crack in his chest refused to bear any weight. The pain of it left him slumped and choking on his own blood, watching Crowley trade blows and dance with a stranger.

And a stranger it was. This was no beast. This was a man. A human. A human man with a giant hammer and a clear willingness to use it. And worse—so much worse—was that he wore the same winged cloak Aziraphale bore.

This was someone from his own homeland who had attacked him upon recognition. If Aziraphale wasn’t in the middle of throwing up whatever blood he had left he’d feel it grow cold.

He watched as Crowley got an extremely lucky stab in and then dart away. Was he always so fast? Did he think Aziraphale was slowing him down? Aziraphale couldn’t keep his head up any more, darkness began to creep in the edges of his vision . He was fast enough to run away from this large opponent if he needed to. He was only fighting for...Aziraphale. The undead man was touched by the thought as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness. He heard the soft clink as the crown on his head touched the ground.

—

No. Can’t do that.

—

Aziraphale was awake again. Crowley was still trading blows with the stranger, and from the limp he now sported, seemed to be losing. Aziraphale felt like no time had passed and yet it felt as though he’d been asleep for ages. The crown on his head was burning with such a ferocity he started to scream through the mouth full of blood. Worse than the break in his chest and the crack in his head, this was a consuming fire that spread and burned and attacked him.

He felt it crawl through him, infecting his very being with whatever power he was receiving. The crown demanded his complete undivided attention. And how could he possibly say no? It pulled at his very soul, leaving him a husk of himself and yet stronger than he’d felt before.

He felt it burning a ring into his head, the smell of burnt hair and flesh surrounding him in a nauseating stench. And then there was a voice. A horrible small voice in the back of his head that said nothing and everything. It whispered to him like it had known him since childhood, telling him the soft and secret things he knew of himself.

But he was awake and alert. His head was full of cotton and the crown was telling him things, the truths of what he could do. He knew what he could do.

He stared at the attacker with such a hate, such an impounding fury fueled on by the crown’s burgeoning madness. Aziraphale watched as a thick black spire burst from the attackers back where Aziraphale willed the destruction. He heard Crowley shout his alarm. Dark truths started to unfold in his mind and another spire shot its way through the assailant, the stagger of it giving Crowley just enough time to land the final blow .

And Crowley...oh what a gentle balm the sight of him was to the fire burning in Aziraphale’s mind. He felt the embers of his rage cool as Crowley stabbed himself with something in the leg, and then repeated the action again. Aziraphale remembered him doing that back when they’d fought the slime in the graveyard as well.

Clearly whatever it was healed Crowley’s body somewhat. Aziraphale watched as the foreign magic stitched Crowley’s skin back together and straightened out his leg. He wasn’t aware he was staring until Crowley turned to him, mouth slightly ajar. “You okay?”

Aziraphale felt the burn of the crown start to smolder and die, leaving him hurt, exhausted, and trembling from the great force that had ripped through him. Aziraphale couldn’t answer Crowley’s question because his body just wouldn’t cooperate. He let out a small whimper that had Crowley immediately rushing to his side. He watched as he brought out a small red vial from his back pocket and then smacked it against Aziraphale’s hip, breaking the vial and letting a liquid spread over his skin. So that's what it was, not a stabbing at all then.

A sweet relief of warmth and comfort spread over him. It wasn’t like estus, drinking the liquid fire healed you from the inside out. This seeped from the outside in, fixing his wounds in a lovely haze of gentle and delirious magic. If he didn’t know better he would have thought the crown felt pleased.

He needed to heal. He needed to rest. “Make a fire,” He choked out, trying to sit up and failing.

“We can’t rest here, Aziraphale. There could be more of them.”

“There’s not,” Aziraphale answered. “I promise there’s not. But I need a fire.” He didn’t know how he knew there was no one else around, but he did. He felt like he knew a lot of things he didn’t know how. His head was pumping a soft pulse of a beat and he realized there was a glow about him. Or rather, above him.

He was no stranger to seeing people’s souls. He’d seen several in his own home and in his journey here; Crowley had even been collecting them from the bodies they’d been passing as they travelled.

But seeing his own soul, definitely outside of his body and floating about two inches above his head with a soft glow was definitely terrifying. Mostly because in all his years of being alive and undead he’d never seen someone still objectively alive or undead with a soul outside their body.

Crowley was clearly also a little spooked by it but kept his mouth shut. The thick glass of the bird mask hid his expressions fairly well but even still he could tell Crowley was staring at it. “If I go and get stuff to make you a fire, are you fine to stay here for a bit?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I- I’ll drink an estus. I’ll be fine if I get a moment's rest.”

Crowley was hesitant to pull away but he nodded anyway, stepping back from the still collapsed man and walked over to the dead hunter. Aziraphale watched him take the soul and rifle through his pockets. Somehow, of all the things he’d just witnessed and done, the idea of Crowley looting a corpse seemed inconsequential.

He turned to Aziraphale and tossed him something from the man before leaving. Aziraphale’s mind started to spin for an entirely different reason. Was he an accomplice of a murder? Did it count as murder if he was the one who was attacked first? Had he...had he just thought a man to death? He was aware that it happened, the great black spires bursting from the man fueled by Aziraphale’s hate of him.

He retrieved the estus from his waist and gently uncapped it. The healing flame consumed him in its sweet conviction. It ate away the worry and strife, leaving him feeling new and whole, at least physically.

The pain subsided but his head was still spinning. He needed to rest. He let his eyes drift closed, not moving from his place on the ground.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He woke to Crowley gently rubbing his shoulder, trying to get him up. "Come on, angel. You can't sleep now."

The exhaustion was overwhelming but Aziraphale sat up anyway. If he thought it was dark before then now the darkness was truly oppressing. He could barely make out Crowley's shape in the pale red light of the moon. He looked up to see that the sky was purple and angry, twisting with some kind of unholy force. So this was a Red Moon.

"How long was I out?" He asked as he watched Crowley set up the requested fire.

"I was only gone about twenty minutes," Came Crowley’s reply.

Aziraphale finally looked at the trinket Crowley had tossed to him from the body. It was a little gemstone. He held it up to the light of the newly lit fire, trying to figure out what it was.

"Put it on your sword," Crowley came to sit next to him. "It's uh...It's made out of blood but it has magic in it."

Aziraphale took his sword from the ground and looked at the pommel. There was a spot that he could wedge the gem into on the edge but he wasn't sure what it would do. He pressed it in and his crown began to itch again. He scratched at his scalp harshly with one hand as the other turned the sword over. If there was a difference he didn't know what it was.

"So…" Crowley began to lead again, "what kind of magic was that?"

"What?" Aziraphale looked at him, only now realizing how close the hunter was sitting.

"The, the spike thing. And your uh…" he twirled his finger around at the still floating soul over Aziraphale's head. "It's magic, isn't it?"

"It must be," Aziraphale replied softly. "I don't know what I did. I think- I think I died. When he smashed my head against the wall I think it killed me but I'm- well- I’m already dead you can't kill me again. As long as I have the fire in me, I will live. I have faith, so I will not hollow."

"But why's your soul on the outside then?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I don't know. I-" he couldn't think about this right now. He stood up on shaky legs to at least get some distance between himself and Crowley, "I need the fire for a moment, do not be alarmed. Please."

He stood over the flame for a second before stepping up and letting it consume him. It wasn't as good as a true holy bonfire, but the flame and the light ate at his very core and filled him till suddenly, lovingly, he felt whole.

He opened his eyes with the flame extinguished from him and looked at Crowley. The man was watching him with a slack jaw and if he had his mask off Aziraphale knew his eyes would be wide in awe.

While the healing blood and the estus had healed the damage, the fire healed his weary mind and soul. The exhaustion and discomfort were gone, though he realized his soul was still hovering above him. The content and peacefulness wouldn't last forever but he gave Crowley a smile anyway. "I'm better now. Thanks for the fire."

Crowley was very silent for a slightly too long period of time. "S'no problem." He finally mumbled out.

Aziraphale took a step back from the fire and smoothed his hands over his clothes. He needed to change them soon, he felt as though he stood out too much in the dark with his all white and beige ensemble.

He looked over to the body, remembering that he had been dressed in the same getup and- oh. Oh it was a woman. He leaned over her to take a look at her. She was so strong he'd just assumed it was a man. She had beautiful long locks of red hair, and was far too young to have died like this. The guilt of murder welled up in Aziraphale again and it was all he could do not to sob.

"Any idea who she is?" Crowley asked, getting to his feet. "She's from your church if the clothes are any indication."

Aziraphale knelt down to at least close her eyes and run a gentle hand through her hair. The worst part was he did know her. Carmine Zuigiber. An acolyte who had been forced to leave the order for uncouth behavior and aggressive tendencies. She was a menace and probably hated Aziraphale's guts. He gave a soft sigh and lied through his teeth, "I don't know her. She's so young...it's such a shame…"

"She did try to kill you. You know." Crowley replied, hanging back from the body. "Just like to remind you of that."

"And you saved me," Aziraphale stood up again, unwilling to look at the body any longer. "You didn't have to do that, and yet!" His grin seemed infectious as Crowley started to mirror it.

"’Course I saved you, you're the only decent conversation in this whole damned city," Crowley jerked his head back the direction they were headed before. "Come on then."

Aziraphale ran after him, clutching his sword ahead of them to light the way. He looked over to Crowley again and realized offhandedly he seemed bigger. The scales that had been sequestered beneath his mask had spread down his jaw. The full moon brings out the beasts, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +5 psychic damage lmao
> 
> Chat with me on Instagram I'm very willing to answer questions


	3. A change of skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to commanderryoe for being a great beta reader

  
As they travelled further back the way they came, Aziraphale was quick to realize Crowley was having a...problem. He did his best to ignore it given that if their positions were reversed he'd be embarrassed. But that didn't stop him from noticing.

Crowley was, for lack of a better term, picking at himself. He'd take his nails down his arms then give a pull to his sleeves and scratch the exposed skin on his hands. Repeatedly. Or he'd wiggle his legs like he had something crawl up his trousers leg and he needed to get it out. Or he'd just shake and shiver his whole body over for a brief moment and then start walking again.

Any of these alone wouldn't be that much cause for alarm but all together, and the fact he was noticeably larger than he had been when they met, was starting to eat at Aziraphale's nerves. He would have been a fool to not realize what was happening.

"Crowley," he finally decided to say something after watching the man shake his legs out for the third time in the minute. "Are you doing alright?"

"No, I'm not bloody well doing alright!" Crowley spat back like he'd been waiting for and dreading Aziraphale to ask. Aziraphale expected to hear anger in those words, but he realized they were only laced with fear.

The undead man chewed on his lip while contemplating this, "What would help?"

"What?"

"What would help? You're clearly uncomfortable." He repeated.

Crowley didn't answer him immediately in what Aziraphale could only assume was a mixture of shame and anger. "I- I need to change my clothes," he finally spoke up. "I don't know where we are and- and my clothes are too tight and-"

Aziraphale raised his hand to stop the floodwaters of panic that were clearly about to come out. "One thing at a time. Let's get you a change of clothes. I'd like one too, these trousers are ruined from the sewer and the cape sticks out too much."

Crowley nodded slowly. "Some of these houses are vacant. We can...we can go look in."

"You're proposing looting someone's home?"

Crowley looked at him in exhaustion . "Yes, I am. They're most likely dead anyway."

"That's terrible," Aziraphale muttered. "Though I guess they shan't be using them any more in that case."

He watched as Crowley started trying doors. None of them were open, and a few times he jiggled the knobs he was met with screams and anger from the very much alive people inside. That was only reasonable, Aziraphale thought. He wouldn't want someone trying his door on a deadly night such as this either.

He was hesitant to put any distance between himself and Crowley, remembering how it had only taken a few steps of separation from him to get ambushed last time. Although he was quite preoccupied at the moment, Crowley seemed not to mind the closeness at all. If anything he was the one who instigated it in the first place.

They had tried all the doors on the block they were on without any luck. Aziraphale knew people didn't just leave their homes unlocked. That was just asking for people to come in and steal their belongings. He was about to tell Crowley they may not find anything before he started hearing things.

Hearing wasn't the right word though. It wasn't as though anyone was speaking to him, but he could understand a train of thought that wasn't his. There was a clear bit of knowledge that was being passed to him from some outside force, telling him where he could find what he needed.

"Crowley…" he stared off into the middle distance as he tried to decipher what was being told to him, "I think we should try a block over, there's...a house there."

Crowley gave him a tight lipped look that made Aziraphale glad he couldn't see his eyes. "There's houses here too, Aziraphale."

"Yes, but these ones are locked." Aziraphale said as if it were obvious .

Crowley clenched his jaw before saying, "I've noticed."

"Well, let's try the one I'm thinking of. It'll have things in it, I know it will."

Crowley scratched at himself and stepped back from the door he was trying with a sigh. "Alright, Angel. Lead the way."

Aziraphale knew exactly where he was going. The crown gave him a pleasant buzz the closer he got, filling his head with sweet cotton. He was so distracted by it that he didn't notice till they were almost there that Crowley was walking very...strange. His legs wouldn't close where his hips met so he was sort of just swinging them to the side to straddle the air and walk like a man who's shit himself.

Aziraphale snorted before actually giving out a guffaw. "What on Earth are you doing walking like that?"

Crowley, who was clearly embarrassed, took it in stride and just kept walking. "I'm growing a tail."

"You're what!?" Aziraphale exclaimed and caught up to him.

"Oh, you heard me," Crowley stopped in front of the house. "I can hardly bend my legs at all these damn pants are so tight and now I'm sticking an entire other limb down them. If this house doesn't have what I need I'm gonna have to go pantless, I hope you realize."

"There could be far worse fates," Aziraphale murmured as he tried the door.

The door swung open into a dark hallway, leading to a central room and some stairs. Aziraphale lit his sword to look around, taking in the wonders of this abode. Whoever lived here was...a very strange person.

Everything had runes and carvings and writing on them. There were several blood crystals like the one in Aziraphale's sword just laying on the ground, and he heard them crack under his feet as he walked.

"Bedrooms are upstairs," He told Crowley, not knowing how he knew that. "The bedrooms have clothes."

Crowley stepped away from him hesitantly, like he saw something that Aziraphale didn't. He did go upstairs without a protest though, marching up them on all fours like an animal.

And that left Aziraphale alone.

The cotton in his mind felt thick and heady like a sweet honey. There was something here for him. The little voice told him to keep coming in. Go deeper into the house. And of course he obeyed.

He stepped on the blood shards without care, listening to them crack and pop beneath the soles of his boots . It was a good sound, the voice told him. They were the remnants of people that had done wrong and didn't Aziraphale dislike people who did wrong? Of course.

"Of course," He told the voice, speaking out loud to nothing. The fire of his sword dimmed down to a dull light, casting the back room into a shadowy haze. He looked up above him to see something painted on the ceiling. A circle of some kind, with all sorts of intersecting lines and runes about it.

He knew he should recognize this, but the haze in his brain kept him from remembering. Instead it pulled his attention to the table, and what a wonderful feast it had laid there.

A set of scales, one cup full of a dark liquid, and the other full of meat.

"What is this?" He asked the voice.

He'd taken communion before. He's well aware of the symbolism being presented to him. And isn't that a good thing?

"Isn’t that a good thing?" He asked.

Of course it was a good thing.

"Of course it is," He responded.

He reached out and took a small piece of the meat from the cup and hesitantly dipped it into the thick oily blood of the other.

He pressed it against his lips like it were a lover to kiss before opening his mouth and taking it in. It tasted of iron and salt. The crown buzzed against him, and the flames of the sword dimmed down to nothing.

He chewed at it for a long time. Longer than he'd chewed anything. He didn't swallow it though, just stood there in the dark with it in his mouth. Something about this wasn't right. Communion wasn't blood and meat it was wine and bread. It-

Crowley thumped something upstairs.

He opened his mouth and let it dribble out onto the floor.

The buzzing of the crown stopped immediately and the flames of the sword lit back up in full force. Both cups of the scales were empty.

He picked up the chain balancing them, getting the distinct feeling he should keep it. He slung it across his shoulders and went to go look for Crowley, taking care not to step on any more of the blood shards.

He found Crowley upstairs clipping his cape back on. He was faced away from the door but he had his hat and mask off, letting Aziraphale catch a glimpse of him. He knocked on the doorframe so as not to alarm Crowley of his presence.

Crowley's actions slowed as Aziraphale came closer. "It doesn't look too bad, does it?" He asked and turned to the undead man.

It really didn't look that bad at all. Of course his body was changing into something terrible and monstrous, but Crowley made it work the best he could. The previously mentioned tail hung between his legs and lay on the floor. Aziraphale assumed Crowley must have ripped a hole in the new trousers. Mostly because he'd also ripped off most of the lower legs to them, forgoing the boots entirely for his new strange bare feet.

"Does it hurt?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nnngh don't ask me that. Nothing can be done about it." Crowley replied.

Aziraphale then realized most of the growth Crowley was experiencing seemed to be coming out of his legs more so than his chest. They looked almost dog-like with the ankle stretched up as he walked around on the pads of his feet. He looked fast; much quicker than a normal human.

"I'd feel poorly if you were in pain though. Regardless of if anything can be done," Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley shook his head. "I think most of it is yet to come. My hips ache the worst now but I've got a whole new limb there, so it's expected."

He'd changed the tight leather shirt to a loose silky blouse with lace trim. Offhandedly, Aziraphale noted that it looked like a woman's undergarment, and stored that in the same spot in the back of his mind that was still quietly thinking about the lovely shade of red his hair was. It was probably the only thing loose enough to go over his hands.

Speaking of which, his hands had grown as well, sporting the same pads that his feet had. Aziraphale reached out to grab hold of one of them, holding it gently to turn over and look at the scales on the back. He thought they were black but they had a sheen, rainbow like an oil slick. In a strange way it was beautiful.

"You look fine, considering the circumstances," Aziraphale said gently.

"Good as it's gonna get," Crowley softly withdrew his hand from Aziraphale's grasp. "You gonna change your clothes?"

"Oh I was going to, wasn't I?"

"What were you doing downstairs for so long?" Crowley laughed. "Get distracted by the spooky graffiti?"

"I...suppose so," Aziraphale answered. What had he been doing downstairs? "I can't remember what I was doing. It's all-" he waved his fingers at his head, "-fuzzy."

Crowley’s mouth formed that now-familiar thin line, but for the first time Aziraphale saw how worried his eyes looked. He didn't say anything on the matter, just stepped back from Aziraphale to turn around. "Well, in any case, this is the room that has clothes in it. I- well, it may be presumptuous of me, but I went ahead and picked out something for you."

That peaked Aziraphale's interest and he crossed the room to meet Crowley again. There were a couple sets of clothes laid out, lovely tans and rich browns overlayed with a soft off-white silk or cream lace.

In less than a day since they'd met, Crowley already knew what Aziraphale would like. Of course the man he couldn't get attached to would be the best thing to ever happen to him. Of course he would. "I love it. Thank you, Crowley."

"I'll step outside while you try them on. Do hurry, if you would."

"Yes, I'll get a wiggle on. Shoo." He playfully mimed pushing Crowley out of the door. He noticed that Crowley was using his cane as an actual cane, putting weight on it to ease the pain from his hips. It must hurt far more than he was letting on.

Aziraphale undressed quickly, putting on the new clothes Crowley had set aside for him. A bath with a good scrub would have been lovely as well, but Aziraphale was grateful for what he had. He reached up to take the crown off for a moment when suddenly a burst of panic and shame shook through him. No, no he shouldn't remove the crown.

Instead, he unfastened all the buttons on the silk shirt and slipped it over his shoulders, buttoning it back up the long way. And the cape- he loved his feather cape. But it stuck out. Anyone who saw it would know where he was from and that was too much of a risk. He went over to the closet that had been rummaged through, hoping to find something else.

And oh- oh what a lovely thing he found. A thick white fur mantle. This must have been such a luxury to whoever owned this place before. He placed it around his shoulders before getting an idea. He could detach and replace the little feather parts from his old cape, the actual wing designs, and just sort of clip them to the bottom of the mantle. It would still have the waterproofing and protection of the old cape, but not be nearly as identifiable.

He went over to the mirror to see himself. Despite the shock of seeing his own soul above his head again, he thought he looked...pretty. The fur and the silk with the lace trims and beads was all so delicate and unlike what he was used to. Pretty was the only word he had for himself. He'd never looked like this before and he couldn't help the soft smile that came to his face.

"Crowley?" He poked his head out of the room, eager to show his companion, before walking into the hallway. "Crowley, I'm changed!"

There was no answer. Something was wrong.

He slowly walked down the stairs, listening for any sign Crowley was still in the house. There was a thumping coming from the back and Aziraphale crept carefully over the blood crystals to not make any noise.

Crowley was in the back room looking over the table as his tail thumped on the floor in a steady rhythm. A whisper from the crown told him to be careful.

Aziraphale cleared his throat to get Crowley's attention. Those monstrous snake eyes snapped to attention as Crowley peered over his shoulder at him. He looked absolutely feral, unrecognizing and uncomprehending. Aziraphale stood still in terror unsure if he should run or not.

But then it was gone, and Crowley stood up to his full height. Aziraphale tensed as Crowley turned to him. "Don't you look nice? Feel any better?"

"Um, yes. I feel fine. Thank you."

Crowley limped over to him with the cane, "Good. Let's get going. We still have most of the night ahead of us and I'd like to get out of this spooky house."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated ♥️


	4. Me and you and us and he

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to commanderRyroe for betareading this fic

  
"What direction should we head?" Aziraphale asked when they left the house.

Crowley grumbled something and looked around, shaking his head. "I have no idea. I still don't know where we are. It's so late now that I'm not even sure we could get into the chapel if we even wanted to. We…" He looked away in embarrassment and pulled his mask down, finally hiding his face again, "we may have to change our game plan."

"Well, what would you be doing tonight if I wasn't here?" Aziraphale asked.

"Joining in on the hunt. But...I can't do that now. Look at me, I'm a walking target. Every hunter in a three mile radius is going to want to kill me. Not that they wouldn't already want to kill me, but this time they'll do it with prejudice."

Aziraphale nodded. "And I'm guessing just hiding out somewhere for the night isn't an option?"

Crowley seemed to consider that for a moment then shook his head and started walking with the cane. "Not for me it isn't. I don't want to stick around one place too long, that's just asking to be hunted."

"So…" Aziraphale's train of thought trailed off, "what do you want to do?"

"I don't know, Angel," Crowley sighed. "I feel like we're more lost than ever."

"You don't even know where the sewer is any more, do you?" Aziraphale asked with the knowledge given to him by the crown.

Crowley stopped walking. "No. I don't."

Aziraphale wrung his hands and looked back the way they came. "Maybe we can retrace our steps?"

"I'm not sure what good that would do in the long run," Crowley growled. He sighed and scratched at the back of his head. "You have to understand I'm- I'm not going to be myself for all that much longer. Maybe you should think about going off on your own."

"What do you mean?" Aziraphale asked, knowing full well what he meant.

Crowley growled deep and low in his throat, making a terrifying inhuman rumble, "I'm already so much worse then when we met and it's only been a couple of hours. How much longer do you think you're safe with me? There's several hours of this cursed night left and I wholly suspect I'm going to keep...transforming."

Aziraphale just hummed like Crowley hadn't just confirmed his fears. "Well, I'm not safe anyway. You've had to rescue me twice already. I think I have better chances with you than I do alone."

Crowley shook his head. "You need to get away from me."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale stepped up to him, taking in that now familiar feeling of his closeness. "You brought me here, I'm not going anywhere."

Crowley stepped back immediately. "What if I hurt you? I already feel myself slipping! It's only a matter of time till I try to kill you, and I don't want that."

"I'm already dead, you can't kill me," Aziraphale softly replied.

"Aziraphale stop it! I don't even want to think about hurting you, let alone killing you! You're the last good thing in Yharnam and I'll be damned if I become just another mindless beast and wind up being the one to do you in." Crowley stepped away from him again. "So go away!"

Aziraphale stepped back finally, not believing what Crowley was asking of him. "Where should I go?"

"Nngh, you can hole up somewhere. You're not a hunter, you haven't signed a contract, you don't have a dream. The others won't attack you. Just hide from the beasts and the hunters will do their job. Be a civilian."

"What?" Aziraphale asked in confusion. "What are you talking about? What does any of that even mean?"

"Just hide from the beasts, you'll be fine! Now go on!" He made a pitiful attempt of swiping at Aziraphale, clearly trying not to hit him. "Get out of here!"

Aziraphale made a shocked little noise. "Crowley!"

"I mean it! Get away from me! Go back home! Get out of Yharnam!" Crowley growled at him again, showing off his teeth. "You never should have come here!"

Aziraphale clenched his jaw and looked away, "I never had a choice! You're acting like being here was some stupid vacation idea! I'm here as a punishment! Just so you know, you were the only person who's been kind to me since I died. The only one. So I hope you know how cruel you've been. Goodbye Crowley, I hope I never see you again, Because I don't know what will happen if I do." He turned swiftly to stomp back in the direction they came from.

Aziraphale didn't get very far before he turned around, hoping at least to apologize for saying such a rotten thing but Crowley was gone, leaving him alone in the unfamiliar city.

For the first time he actually looked up to see the architecture around him. The buildings were beautiful and grand, suggesting this must have been a lovely place to live at one time. He felt his lip warble and he pressed his hands to his face. Now was not the time to cry.

The crown whispered something sweet and soft to him, offering the comfort he so needed. He was on his own again, like he had been from the beginning. It was foolish of him to even pretend Crowley had been a friend. He'd been told by the man over and over he couldn't be trusted and yet somehow in a mere couple hours Aziraphale had grown attached.

If Gabriel were here he'd call him selfish and soft, and that he deserved to be lost and hurt for being so naive. The crown offered him a softness, a dulling honey in his mind to take the edge off.

It told him how lovely he could be if he didn't worry about it. Don't worry about it.

For a moment, he didn't worry about it.

Aziraphale wiped his face into the back of his hand and gripped his sword. Crowley wouldn't be any use here anyway. He got them lost in the first place. It was his fault Aziraphale didn't know where he was. It was Crowley's fault Aziraphale felt like this.

A strange sort of anger started to build in Aziraphale. Anger at Crowley for abandoning him, anger at Gabriel for sending him here, anger at this city for allowing the blood rituals, anger at this plague for even existing. His fist tightened on the sword and the flames of it grew higher. If none of it existed maybe he could be happy.

None of this should be happening. He should have stayed dead the first time and none of this would have been a problem. He felt the fat tears hit his cheeks from where he was crying again.

What could he do? What was he good for? Standing around and crying, apparently. He dropped the sword to the ground and pressed his hands to his face. He felt the tears run through his fingers despite all his efforts to stop them.

He was actively aware of the crown trying again to send a balm to his weary mind.

"What are you doing to me?" He finally asked. "I don't know what you want. Just let me be sad."

The crown suggested that he can't be sad. He has things to do.

"No I don't!" He screamed at the nothing, not caring that he would be drawing unwanted attention. "My goal is impossible! There is no cure for this disease! The only thing Gabriel wanted for me to do was to die! And I already screwed that up! I couldn't even die right!" He was getting breathless, panting from his anger. "So what do you want from me!?"

The crown pressed on his mind, maybe he could join the hunt?

"I don't want to join the hunt!"

Why not?

"Because I don't want to kill anything!" Aziraphale screamed his words. That was his mantra the whole way up here. That was the sentence he was repeating when Crowley found him. "I'm not a murderer! I'm not a killer! And I never will be!" Aziraphale threw his head back and let loose a wail into the air, letting his frustration and anger take over him.

The crown had no response. Aziraphale was left well and truly alone. He took in big gasping unneeded breaths and shook his head. How stupid, to be screaming like that on a night such as this.

He looked at his hands and how wet they were from his tears. How had he cried so much in such a short amount of time? How long had it been?

He bent down to pick up his sword and froze, realizing the fire was reflecting a pair of eyes coming towards him in the distance. For a brief and foolish second he hoped it was Crowley, but as they drew closer he realized it was some horrifying wolf creature, clearly drawn to him from all the needless yelling he’d done.

He stood up to start running but found his legs frozen in place, unable to move.

The crown told him he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Why not!?” He begged the crown. “Let me go! Let me go!”

The crown told him he was no use as a vessel if he would not fight.

“What!?” Aziraphale practically shrieked.

The beast drew closer to him, snapping his teeth in hungry bloodlust.

The crown told him he’d have to fight if he wants to move.

“No!” Aziraphale yelled his resolve. “I’m not going to kill anything! Get yourself another vessel and leave me alone!”

He tried to rip the crown from his head but the beast pounced on him. All Aziraphale could do was scream in his agony and terror. He could move his arms but dropped the sword anyway, falling backwards from the heavy tackle. He pushed at the beast with no success, feeling those horrible jaws close around his shoulder and rip into his flesh.

The crown told him he should fight. He could kill this abomination easily.

“No!” He screamed again and pushed at the beast.

The crown told him if he didn’t fight it would eat him. And no matter how undead he was, that would surely be the end.

“Maybe that’s a good thing!” He slapped uselessly at the beasts back as it took another bite from him. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been brought back at all!”

In the distance there was shouting. Aziraphale was far too preoccupied to notice it. What he did notice was the loud crack of a gunshot and the beast letting go with a startled bark. Aziraphale slumped backwards to the ground, the crown restricting his movement. He wanted to get up. He wanted to see what was happening.

Several wet slashing sounds and more indistinct shouting came from where he couldn’t see. The beast growled and whined and then, suddenly, it was quiet.

Aziraphale never knew how tense silence could be. He missed the sound of blood rushing in his ears, the simple thrum of his heartbeat. The crown kept him motionless, still as a corpse. He couldn't even fake his breathing.

A figure stepped into his view, peering down over him. He was a young man with long dark hair and even darker eyes. He was in his teens, maybe early twenties by the looks of him. “Hey Adam,” he spoke over his shoulder to some unseen partner, “I think he’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always welcome ♥️
> 
> Chat with me on Instagram, I'm always willing to infodump about this fic


	5. Blessed be the children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey this chapter has Aziraphale touched and messed with without his consent and while it’s absolutely not sexual in nature, some people might find it hard to read regardless. Love yourself and stay safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to commanderRyroe for the beta

Aziraphale watched as another boy entered his line of sight. This one was probably about the same age as the other, but there was an air of severity to him that the first one lacked. “That’s too bad. I’ve never seen someone just lay down for a beast like that.”

Aziraphale wanted to scoff at the boy, he hadn’t lain down for the beast! It attacked him while he was frozen! He was still frozen, actually, unsure exactly what he was meant to do in this situation. 

"I guess I'm gonna grab his stuff then," the first boy knelt down to start rummaging through Aziraphale's pockets. 

Aziraphale, for all it was worth, cursed at the boy mentally. He felt the crown laugh at him as he had his last estus taken. He had nothing in the means of money or trinkets besides a few worthless stones and a mere couple of coins the boy didn't bother taking. 

"'Lock, hurry up," the other boy circled back around, keeping his eyes on the rooftops above them. "There's something out here. It's upsetting dog." 

Aziraphale hadn't noticed the little terrier before the boy mentioned it.

"Woah look at this sword," the first boy, Aziraphale referred to him mentally as 'Lock like the other boy had, said, "this isn't from Yharnam. Check it out."

The one referred to as Adam bent over to see it, "Oh wow… what is it?"

"I dunno. Who the hell is this dude?" 

"He's churchey, that's for sure," Adam knelt down proper to poke at the crown which sent a wave of nausea through Aziraphale. 

'Lock slipped the set of scales from Aziraphale's shoulders and held them up for inspection. "What is this?" 

Adam reached over and much to Aziraphale's chagrin closed his eyes manually. "I think it's a scale chain. It's missing the middle part though. See the little cups?" There was a jingling above that Aziraphale assumed was the scale being passed from one boy to the other. 

Why had he even taken that scale with him? He couldn't remember besides thinking it was important. He felt the crown start to fill his mind with the hazy dulling sensation again. He didn't fight it this time, not sure what good it would do. 

The boys were talking about something above him, but he couldn't understand them. Their words were turning into a slurry of noises and incomprehensible thought. The crown was preparing him for something, and maybe it would be a better idea if he could just go along with it. 

His eyelids slowly slide back up, watching the two boys talk about the scales and the sword. 

'Lock turned back to him to each for the crown, making eye contact with Aziraphale. He froze in place, saying something to Adam. Adam waved his hand in front of Aziraphale's face to no response. The dog whimpered. 

Aziraphale obviously had no reaction, but the crown was amused. Aziraphale wanted to yell at the boys to get away from him. He mostly feared one of them would take the crown and get themselves in trouble with it. He had already screwed up and died once; it didn't matter if a crown wanted to mess around with his mind, but these two had their whole lives ahead of them. 

Adam manually closed his eyes again. Through all the fuzz Aziraphale heard them call him creepy and got disheartened by it, even though he knew if he came across a corpse that made eye contact with him he'd probably be put a little out of sorts too. 

He felt one of them, probably 'Lock, try and take the crown again. Aziraphale felt a sharp burning pain but for some reason the crown was still there. The cotton in his mind eased up so he could listen and understand what they were saying. 

"--S'like it's melted see?" Came 'Lock's voice as a hand pushed through Aziraphale's hair. 

"Wow that's fucked up," Adam replied. "Does it come off?"

Aziraphale wanted nothing more than for these boys to stop touching him. He was getting quite fed up with it. The two boys tugged on the crown again and Aziraphale understood what they meant by melted. It was attached to him somehow, and no amount of their pulling was going to make it come off. The crown seemed amused at that.

Then, the crown spoke to him in a clear thought, almost like a direct sentence in his mind. "Do you want them to go away?"

Aziraphale was terrified of this development. It was one thing for it to make vague suggestions at him and another entirely to hear a voice in his head. "Don't kill them," he told the crown again. "Just don't kill them."

"Why shouldn't I?" The crown asked. "They'll leave you alone, isn't that enough?"

"They're barely adults! They might even be teenagers! I don't care if they loot my body and take my things, you cannot kill them!"

"You have such a strong conviction, I wouldn't have been so eager to get ahold of you had I known. It doesn't matter to me, though. I have all the time in the world. And Aziraphale, I know you do too."

Aziraphale felt his head hit the ground where one of the boys dropped him. "What does that mean?" He asked the crown. "How long will you keep me like this?" 

"As long as I need to." 

"Then who are you? At least tell me that!"

"The Church here calls me Death, but you know me as Azrael." 

\-- -- -- 

Crowley was having a bad time. He dropped the cane to the rooftop he was on and hunched over, unable to keep walking. The pain in his hips was unbearable. He hadn't been lying to Aziraphale when he told him it hurt, but this was beyond hurt. This was the worst thing he'd ever experienced. 

He bit down on one of the leather straps he had to keep from wailing. What was going to become of him? And why him? Why now? He dug his claws into the roof tiles and rolled over to his side, trying anything to relieve the pressure. 

He'd sent Aziraphale away to protect him, yes, but also so he wouldn't see this. This was going to be the end of him. He'd seen it so often in other people. Other hunters. This was the point they lost their minds and truly became beasts. 

But Crowley didn't feel like he was losing his mind. He was in terrible pain and was afraid someone was going to come and kill him while he was incapacitated; but his mental facilities seemed the same as ever. Maybe a little more obsessive, as he couldn't stop thinking about Aziraphale and how strange he had acted. But that didn't feel like a consuming madness. 

If anything, thinking of the man soothed his mind. Such goodness was unknown in these parts even before the plague. There was just something about him. Something soft and sweet that drew Crowley in. 

He'd never had anything like that in his life, no family, no real friends. It wasn't much of a surprise that he fell in with a group such as the hunter of hunters. They claimed to have a good cause. They claimed to be a family. They claimed they were doing the right thing. 

But as Crowley lay in his misery all he could do was curse them. It was their fault he was here. He never would have come to Yharnam if it wasn't for them. Their leader, Luci, was such a grand speaker. He was a man that could make anyone feel important and that's all Crowley had wanted. He just wanted to belong somewhere and mean something to someone. Now that was never going to happen. 

He choked out a sob and bit down harder on the leather. A wet crunching noise came from behind him and the pain seemed to explode from his back, ruining the new clothes with blood and a black oily substance. 

He screamed into his fists and shook violently. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Maybe this is what caused the madness. Not a transformation but the pain. 

No, no, that wasn't right. Because he'd seen men with only small transformations act entirely ravenous. The anger within them boiling up into a creature that exists only to hurt and kill. Crowley didn't want that. He'd never liked doing his job, despite the fact he was good at it. He was able to compartmentalize it, put the beasts into a separate category from men. It made killing them easier. And the hunters especially, when they became too lusty and blood-addled and turned to beasts themselves, it took someone like Crowley to put them down. Someone who was willing to forget they were once men. 

But Aziraphale, he hadn't forgotten. Aziraphale wasn't afraid of him. Aziraphale wanted to help the beasts, not kill them. Crowley knew it was because of the hardships he'd seen in his own home. He didn't know much of anything about that continent. The Lords of Cinder and their strange goings on. He knew more than most, because he bothered to pick up a book on occasion, but Aziraphale's home was still largely a mystery. 

He knew the man must have suffered when he was alive, must have suffered in death, and was suffering now. But to put up with all that and somehow want to be kind…

The pain had died down from a sharp stabbing pain to a terrible, throbbing soreness. He tried to push himself up only to find that he couldn't. His back wouldn't bend the right way and his hips were ducked down beneath himself at an incorrect angle. He had to balance on all fours like an animal. But it… made sense. In a way. His arms were stronger and longer, while his legs had become lithe and lean. 

He balanced precariously before taking his first steps, the gait coming natural as if he was supposed to do this. He felt something strange behind him and turned his head to see tall thin spines coming out of his back. That's what must have hurt so much. He felt strangely nimble and athletic like a cat. He was looser in some ways, his joints stretching more than they used to when he twisted and bent. 

Crowley wished he hadn't sent Aziraphale off. He didn't want him to see him like this. He couldn't stop thinking about the gentle way Aziraphale had taken his hand back at the house. How he told him he looked fine. How he had begged to stay with him till the end. 

Maybe… maybe he could find him somehow. 

He left his cane behind, he wouldn't be able to carry it if he was walking with his hands.

What had he said when they seperated? Crowley had been in so much pain that most of the conversation was hazy. Had he said Crowley was the only person who had been kind to him? Surely not. Aziraphale was so… nice. He'd proven to be kind of a bastard on occasion but there was a sweetness to him that was inherent. 

He wanted to find him and apologize. Even if Aziraphale didn't want to travel with him any more, Crowley felt awful for sending him away. And if Crowley was the only person who Aziraphale considered nice then he truly was an asshole for doing so. 

He felt himself growing strangely hot and rubbed his face in his hands, ditching the mask and hat. There wouldn't be much of a point in hiding himself now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Feel free to chat with me on Instagram or Twitter. I’m @birbteef on both


	6. The hunters dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to commanderRyroe for the beta!

Aziraphale knew of the name Azrael from his studies. Azrael was an old king of a dead people, long forgotten to the passage of time except for what few references were written down in texts. He couldn't remember anything about what Azrael supposedly did or was in charge of, but he did remember he was supposed to be some omnipotent ruler of death and destruction.

"If that is true then how the mighty have fallen," Aziraphale spat at him. He saw his opportunity to get some kind of an upper hand, and though he was not brave, words were his ally. "You have such little power that you have to ask me for permission to take my body. In the texts I've studied weren't you supposed to be powerful? Such a fool you must have been to let that slip away."

He felt Azrael's force within him shake in its anger. "You are the fool here, Aziraphale. You wore my crown, you utilized my hardened blood, you ate of my communion. You've given me all that I need."

"But I won't kill," Aziraphale replied resolutely, "and that's the thing, isn't it? You...you...what were you called? Pthumerians? Isn't that your species? I know of you. I know the foul things your kind has done. You spoke to beings greater than yourself and you've reaped the consequences tenfold!" Aziraphale was starting to get angry now. "And that's what this is! This plague isn't a plague at all! It's damnation for your actions!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Azrael rolled a force of domination through him making Aziraphale fall back. "Or do you think you humans haven't spoken to them as well? Regardless, I already have you, Aziraphale. You should be more worried about yourself than this plague."

"Maybe," Aziraphale replied, his grip on the waking world fading. "But I know what I'm doing now. And unlike everyone else here, I have nothing to lose. The plague may have been what destroyed your people, but I won't let it destroy this one."

Then, in a move Aziraphale did not expect in the slightest, Azrael simply shut him out of existence.

\--

The further Crowley walked the more he felt like his brain was melting. At first, he just chalked it up to a headache from the immense amount of pain he was in, but now he wasn't so sure. A headache didn't come with the feeling of needing to sink your teeth into something.

Except he was aware of it. Did people affected by the madness know they were going crazy? Because Crowley was very well aware that he was going crazy. It made him shudder to think of all the beasts he'd killed… maybe… they were more aware of what was happening to them than he thought.

He didn't want to think about that right now though. He couldn't. If he thought about it he would have to face the truth that he was a horrible person and he couldn't handle that right now. He needed something to sooth the rising nonsense in his mind.

His thoughts kept circling back to Aziraphale and the things he wanted to do with the man. He remembered the first time he'd overdosed and woke up in a hospital he met a woman with some kind of compulsion disorder. She had told him she felt like she would die if she didn't twist the cap on a little bottle she had stolen from the charge nurse. Crowley thought he finally understood what she meant by that.

He felt like Aziraphale was the cap and thinking of him was the only thing keeping him grounded into reality. If he stopped there was no guarantee he could ever start again.

He rubbed his face on the ground in frustration. What would he do if he found him? He didn't even know if he could talk any more, let alone carry on a proper conversation. How would that go? "Hello Aziraphale I'm sorry for being an absolute dick you're the last thing keeping my mind here please don't leave me again also I kind of want to eat you but it's fine haha."

Crowley mashed his face harder into the ground. No, no, he was clearly unhinged at this point. But he was aware of it. Somehow he felt that made it worse. He sunk his claws into the stone beneath him and listened very closely to the cracking noises it made. He didn't even know where he was, how could he find Aziraphale? What had he even said? He couldn't remember anything about their conversation, just the hurt look Aziraphale had given him.

What an asshole he must have been. Why did he leave? What did he say? Did he say anything? Maybe… maybe he hadn't. Maybe Aziraphale had run from him? No. No he wouldn't he was so nice and soft and good. The last good thing. The only good thing.

Crowley groaned and startled himself with how guttural it sounded. He had to find his angel. He had to. He felt the need with more conviction than anything he felt in his entire life. Aziraphale would understand. He would. He was a good man, he'd understand anything Crowley threw at him.

He wasn't actually sure that was true though and lifted his face from the ground. Regardless of how he would act, he needed to at least try to find him. He instinctively stuck his long forked tongue out into the cool night air, as he drew it back in he became aware of a new sense. It wasn't smelling, and it wasn't tasting either. Sort of like both of them wrapped up in a single sensation. He repeated the action, feeling the air around him.

He was there, faintly. Crowley knew what he smelled like. He could feel the taste of him. Soft, cold skin, dusty, and saltless like paper. Would he taste of ink and fiber, as well?

He faced the direction where the scent was strongest and started heading towards it.

\--

Adam and Warlock were tentative friends at best. They shared a birthday, so all the other children growing up assumed they must get along and be together as brothers. It wasn't as though they disliked each other, but only recently did they actually bother to really speak to one another. A plague killing your friends and family will do that.

Warlock, going by just 'Lock now, had settled past puberty into a dark young man who would rather spend his evening with a book and a cat than at a pub. He had a tendency to be antisocial and had a quick wit with a sharp tongue to back up the feeling.

Adam, on the other hand, was a darling. He had as many friends as he could count and twice as many acquaintances. His nights were spent with lovely drinking and chatting, interrupted only by the inevitable need to sleep.

One would think these two would not get along, but on the contrary, Adam's need to constantly be a source of speech coupled with Warlock's reluctance to do much but listen let them be fast friends. The fact they had signed up to be hunters at the same time helped.

Neither of them knew what a blood contract was, but they were both alone and devastated. At least they could mourn their losses together.

Warlock was currently trying to pry the crown off of the dead man while Adam was figuring out what was upsetting his dog so much. He was looking at the rooftops, trying as hard as he could to make out anything in the murky blackness. "'Lock, just leave it," He finally called over to the other boy. "You don't want to wear a crown that's been melted to someone anyway."

"I just want to see it, is all," Warlock replied. "It’s so old looking. Downright ancient."

"Yeah, but we're not alone. I don't know what's out here but Dog is about to go mental. Just look at him, all shivers and stuff. Whatever's been lurking isn't any wolfman and I'd rather we leave before we find out what it is."

Warlock wiped his now bloody hands off onto the front of Aziraphale's cape. "Guess you're right. Probably don't need these either." He dropped the scales back onto the corpse, but hesitated with the sword. "Should I keep this?"

"You have a whole-ass axe, why do you want a sword?"

"It's neat."

Adam turned to him fully. "It's a cool sword. It is. But we don't need it. We can't even sell it anywhere. I already have a sword I like just fine and you don't even know how to use it."

Warlock sighed and put the sword down. "I hate when you're right. I'm supposed to be the smart one, you know."

"It helps when you're actually smart," Adam gave him a cheeky grin and dodged the half-hearted slap Warlock aimed at him.

“Does he look familiar to you?” Adam asked Warlock.

Warlock stared down at the man, “kind of. Maybe.”

Adam shrugged and started walking back the direction they came from, Dog and Warlock following behind.

\--

Aziraphale was floating. He was in… nothing. Or something. Somewhere. Yes, he was somewhere. He felt a gentle brush of something against his thigh and opened his eyes. He wasn't floating, he was laying on his back on the ground. The sky above him was a gentle overcast grey, blanketing the world in a soft morning glow.

He looked down to see what was touching him and saw some of the most lovely white lilies he'd ever seen. They were swaying in the gentle breeze, brushing up against him in a sweet caress. He cast his gaze past them to the field, all planted full of these flowers. They were gentle and sweet, calming something within him.

But this was not where he remembered he was. He knew he was just in an alleyway getting looted by teens and having an argument with a long dead king. That's what he remembered. He was reluctant to stand up, but did so anyway, admiring the field he was in. He needed to find out what was going on.

Something thrummed within him as he got up, a gentle pulsing beat that made him pause. His heart. A heartbeat. How long had he been dead that his own heartbeat was unfamiliar?

He looked down to his hands in awe, seeing the forgotten pink flush of life in his fingertips. What a blessing this was, what a gift. He bit his lip and looked around again, stopping once he was facing behind where he had woken.

There was a house, and it was on fire.

But the air did not smell of smoke and the sound of it was not as deafening as a real fire was. So, Aziraphale naturally concluded this was a dream.

He pressed his hand to his neck to feel the pulse beat under his fingertips and was startled by how warm he felt. He forgot that was something he used to have. It made him forlorn to think he had forgotten such a simple thing. Of course he could still be alive in his dreams.

He made his way towards the house while making sure not to step on the lilies. There were well cared-for graves lining a small cobblestone pathway he found and followed. There were remnants of candles and old flowers on all of them. The whole area seemed so well loved and yet abandoned.

He crested the hill to see a familiar shock of red hair standing in front of one of the graves. "Crowley!" He called out and ran forward. "Crowley you're alright!"

Crowley turned to him in startled confusion and Aziraphale quickly slowed to a halt. This was him, yes, but it was a different version of him. Younger, and less harrowed by the hunt. His face was uncovered and Aziraphale could see those lovely honey gold eyes without a single trace of beasthood in them. His clothes were fresh and none of the leather strips had any wear in them yet. "Excuse me, do I know you?" Crowley asked him as he took a step back.

"No I- I don’t think you do," Aziraphale replied. He remembered what Crowley told him when he'd been shooed away. He didn't sign a contract, he didn't have a dream. If taking communion was a contract though… "This is- this dream. It's connected to yours, right?"

"Course it is," Crowley huffed, "that's the whole point of it. 'Hunter's dream' or whatever. I came here to be alone though, so sorry mate, but I don't really want to talk." Crowley turned and stepped away from him.

"Crowley listen, I'm not a hunter. You don't know me yet, I think, but you will. I need your help."

Crowley looked over his shoulder.

"Im- oh, I'll be in a bar. Come and find me, Crowley. When things start to get bad, you must come and find me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I know what this plague is and I can help you."

Crowley scoffed at him. "I don't need any help. I'm doing plenty well on my own, thank you very much. Now I don't know how you got in here if you aren't a hunter, but I'll be on my way. Ciao." As he said these words, he disappeared.

Aziraphale knew he must have woken up. Which means he could wake up, as well. He needed to figure out how and what he was going to do once he reawakened. He thought of Crowley's soft looking human face and how he should be angry with his present-Crowley for sending him away. But he wasn’t. He couldn't be. He'd said he didn't know what he would do if he ever saw him again and apparently now he knew he'd just accept him back.

He had to get out of this dream, get Azrael out of his body, find Crowley, and fix this nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated ❤️


	7. Dream on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to commanderRyroe for the beta

  
Aziraphale was coming to terms with the idea that just because he'd worked out what the plague was, didn't mean he knew how to fix it. He refused to believe there wasn't a cure. Though finding out what it was while trapped in the dream was an impossible task.

Although he couldn’t get out on his own. He'd tried asking the hunters that popped in on occasion, he'd lit candles at the graves, he even went inside the ever-burning house once, but he was too spooked to stay long. Nothing seemed to alter his state of being in the dream.

He felt like he'd been there forever. Time was clearly non-linear, the more hunters he met the more he realized he was meeting them out of order. Sometimes they knew him, sometimes they didn't. They all told him they forgot about him in the waking world till they came back to the dream, their memories of him returning with them.

Some of the hunters lived hundreds of years ago, some were of the present, but curiously and hopefully, none of them seemed to be from a future he had not experienced yet. Either it meant he would solve the problem when he awoke or he was trapped in a limited loop of existence based on what he had already experienced.

He felt trapped regardless of which unknowable truth he was subjected to.

Out of the ever revolving cast of hunters, he met the boys who had looted his body a few times. Meeting them the first time was a confusing situation because they remembered him from a past meeting he did not know, but clearly not when they had taken his things. They seemed surprised at his wariness, which meant they knew him to be friendly, which meant they posed him no ill will.

It was a very confusing situation for Aziraphale, but he didn’t get this far in life without knowing how to play along to situations he didn’t understand.

Warlock was a good boy but he seemed inherently troubled and Aziraphale had done his best to cheer him up on their meetings despite their only waking interaction being a technically negative affair.

Aziraphale learned of the death of Warlock's parents gradually over their meetings, making his heart ache each time he set eyes on the boy. Warlock told him they were neglectful and he didn't miss them. Aziraphale, for as impersonal as he could sometimes be, was definitely able to tell when a hurt and scared child was lying to him to make themselves feel better. He never brought it up, just offered what little comfort he could give within the dream.

Adam was sweet, adventurous, and the most determined young man alive. There was a way he said and did things that was just captivating to listen to. He gave Aziraphale a certain amount of hope for the future, even if he never got to be a part of it. Each time they met Adam had some story about who they'd helped and saved. Sometimes, they were out of order and Aziraphale would wind up hearing the same story a few times, or a continuation of something he did not know the beginning of. He had grand lofty ideas about how he was going to defeat the monsters and put an end to the nightmare. Aziraphale would smile and encourage him, knowing he had no one else who could do so.

He thought it was dreadful that they were both so young and alone. He couldn’t be a parent to them, that was out of the question. But he was a familiar face and comforting presence, and that would have to be enough. He found himself leaning into his old habits of when he worked at the church. He did his best to offer help when he knew there was nothing he could ultimately do.

The long stretches in-between visits from the hunters was maddening at times. Some of the hunters ignored him and went about their business when they showed up. Most of them at least said hello and willingly gave him some small talk if nothing else. Crowley fell into that category. Aziraphale felt lucky that their first meeting here seemed to actually be their first meeting. Crowley was usually a little unwilling to say hello but could always be pestered into it.

He was aloof and wily, but there was also a certain playfulness to this younger version of the man he knew that Aziraphale found incredibly charming. He loved to see those honey-gold eyes narrow as Crowley tried for the billionth time to figure out why Aziraphale was talking to him. It happened nearly every time they saw each other and it always made Aziraphale laugh.

Within the hunters dream, Aziraphale had made himself a spot in the lillies near the cobblestone steps. He didn’t need to sleep, but he found him drifting off on occasion and decided he needed a place that was at least relatively comfortable. He knew he shouldn’t be getting comfortable. He knew he had to get out. The constant gentle breeze and soft moonlight always begged him to stay. At least, here, he was safe.

—

Crowley followed the scent he was tracking all the way back to where they had parted. Had Aziraphale not left this place? He crawled along the rooftops and licked the air, scanning the ground for any sign of him.

There were two hunters not far off, but they were leaving the area. He would have to be wary of them and remember their presence. Aziraphale though… Where was he?

He crested the roof he was on to peer over the ledge. There was a man beneath him, but it was not Aziraphale. He had the scent, the soft papery leather smell, but also gave off such a stench of death and decay. Aziraphale was dead, but he never smelled like this.

Crowley watched as the man sat up, blood streaming through his pristine white hair from a crown on his head. The crown Crowley remembered giving to Aziraphale. He narrowed his eyes and hissed between his teeth. The man’s movements were jerky and uncoordinated like a puppet as he stood and took a few short steps. He bent to pick up a sword and Crowley hissed again, this time much louder and directly intended to be heard.

The man below him looked up, but if he was surprised he didn’t let it show. “Hello, beast,” he spoke with Aziraphale’s voice. That was all the confirmation Crowley needed to hear to know this truly wasn’t Aziraphale. If he were a sensible creature he would stop to think about what was actually happening, but he was no longer a sensible creature.

Instead he let loose a roar and lunged at the man.

—

“I think I met you,” Adam told Aziraphale on their next meeting. “It’s difficult to say, because I don’t remember you’re here till I come back. But he looked an awful lot like you.”

Aziraphale laughed at that, knowing this time had to come sooner or later. “Did I have a crown on my head?” He asked.

“Yeah, and a real kickass sword. I think I- I think I stole your stuff, Mr. Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale wanted to be cross with him, but ultimately he knew that would get him nowhere. By this point that was so long ago for him anyway that the details of the encounter were getting fuzzy. “I won’t pretend it’s okay, but you did think I was dead. Which, technically I was, but that’s regardless. Maybe you shouldn’t be looting corpses.”

“Alright,” Adam seemed embarrassed about the encounter, “but why are you here then? Or why were you there? I remember feeling like I knew you but obviously I couldn’t place it.”

Aziraphale sighed, unsure how to progress. “That… is me. The current me. I’m no more real to this hunter’s dream than you are. It’s all ephemeral. Except I’m stuck in the fleeting moments. I’ve been here a very long time, Adam. Yet I know no time has passed at all.”

“I’ve known you for nearly a year!” Adam exclaimed, “You can’t simply suggest that hasn’t meant anything?”

“I would never,” Aziraphale smiled at him. “It meant the world, don’t you worry. But that body is…was…me. However I am stuck in here, like a ghost, you see?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Mr. Aziraphale.”

“Maybe I don’t either. But- oh!” Aziraphale snapped his head up in excitement. “Adam can you do something for me? In the waking world?”

“I want to, especially to make up for taking your things, but I don’t think I’ll remember anything you tell me.”

Aziraphale frowned at that, “Could you write it down?”

“It won’t come with me,” Adam replied. “Maybe if I try really hard to remember though?”

Aziraphale sighed, “Alright. The crown on my head, the scales around my neck, and the blood in my sword all belonged to a Pthumerian king.”

“Pthumerians are the people who lived in the city below Yharnam, right?” Adam asked.

Aziraphale hesitated on his answer. “Yeees, kind of, they didn’t live below Yharnam, Yharnam was built on top of their old city. They were here first. Sort of. They never really left.”

“Oh wow,” Adam sat down next to Aziraphale to listen to him speak, “I thought they were all dead?”

“Death is not the end. I’m also dead and that certainly never stopped me,” Aziraphale chuckled to himself. “But this plague of beasts started with them, right?” He asked, wondering if the native Yharnamite might know more about this than he did.

Adam simply nodded. “I think so. At least, that’s what people say. They found monsters and used their blood to heal themselves, just like we do.”

“Yes, and this old king was one of them. I only knew of him through my readings and most of those I suspect were highly exaggerated. But he is real and is currently inhabiting my body.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure. I suspect through the items I told you about.”

Adam thought about that for a moment. “So if I take the stuff off, you can leave the hunter’s dream?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to think so. At the very least it would piss Azrael off quite a bit and I believe that would be worth something on its own.”

—

Crowley sunk his teeth into an already damaged shoulder. The blood that spilled forth from the wound was sludge and clotted, starting to rot in its age. He gagged and spat as the man beneath him simply laughed and swung at him with the sword.

Crowley was far quicker than the puppet could ever hope to be and leapt back into the shadow of the building, circling around him. He wanted to ask where Aziraphale was, but his mouth didn’t work. His tongue was too long and his teeth only existed to tear into things. He growled his thoughts instead, a terrifyingly loud and deep rumble passing through him.

“I do remember you, you know?” The puppet told him while pivoting around on its heel. “You’re such a silly thing, Aziraphale was quite fond of you. Not sure why.”

Crowley growled again and it turned halfway into a hiss, the new noise carrying a threat of violence with it.

“He’s already gone, vanished, right into the ether,” the puppet popped his hand open in a flamboyant display of fingers.

Crowley was taking note of how with each passing second the puppet’s movements were getting more precise and accurate. Whatever was happening he wasn’t understanding, but he did understand how to stop someone. He crouched down low and crept forwards. He had claws and teeth and if it was the last thing he did he was going to use them.

—

“What happens then?” Adam asked. “The hunt will still be on.”

“I—and I’m not sure if I’m right on this—I believe if we… maybe… can speak to these old creatures, maybe we can end the scourge of beasts. They want something and the humans that spoke to them before took their offerings and did not comply with their requests. So, we must simply find out what their requests are and see if they can be fulfilled.”

Adam frowned. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Because it is a terrible idea, but it’s the only idea I have. I feel as though there are thousands of pieces to this puzzle and I only have four of them.”

“What if we kill it instead?” Adam asked.

Aziraphale paled at the idea, “I won’t go around killing things, Adam.”

“I can do it,” Adam grinned at him. “If I can remember what you told me when I wake up, then I can get you out of the dream, and we can stop this.”

—

Crowley screamed as he felt the black spire burst from him again. He’d felt lucky when he saw Aziraphale use this power against the redheaded huntress, but having it turned on himself was brutal.

No matter how much he bit and slashed and tore at the puppet it still stood. The body was a bloody mess of crunched bones and torn open wounds, but the inhabitant acted as if nothing was wrong. He moved too quickly, too precisely, too calculated, for Crowley to do anything but defend himself.

He thought he had the upper hand in this fight, but he didn’t, and now he felt like such a fool. He had just wanted Aziraphale. He just wanted someone who would think kindly of him. That was all, that was all! He snapped his jaw tightly around the puppets arm and shook his head, feeling the already broken limb snap again in his grasp.

Nothing was a deterrent. Nothing was changing the outcome of this fight. He felt the sword plunge in between his ribs again and he wailed, gasping for air through a ruined lung. He collapsed to the ground and felt another spire ready to burst from within.

—

Adam woke with a start. His dream was a fleeting memory he knew he needed to remember. He snatched a parchment from Warlock, who had also fallen asleep while he was supposed to be on watch, and started to write.

—

The puppet was sitting on him. Crowley coughed up another plug of bloody black sludge as his body rattled beneath him. He didn’t have the ability to get up again, but he wasn’t dead. And now the bastard was sitting on him. He couldn’t growl or hiss his displeasure, just wheeze as he drew in another painful breath.

“You were fond of him too, weren’t you?” The puppet asked. “That’s why you came back? It’s too bad you’ve ruined this body. I’ve been waiting a long time and you’ve torn it up in a single night.”

Crowley made a huffy whine of a noise in response.

“You do know he was dead, don’t you?” The puppet laughed. “I’m not sure what either of you could think would happen. A dead man and a monster. Hah,” He bent over and got up. “Do you want me to put you out of your misery or just wait for you to bleed out? You haven’t got more than an hour left.”

The sound of running footsteps interrupted Azrael’s words as two boys and a dog came hurtling towards them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated. There’s one chapter left! If you have any questions feel free to ask.


	8. Hold your breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, to commanderRyroe for the beta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard a call in my sleep again; I brought my body to the altar  
> But a good man said that I raised the dead  
> I’m seeing forgotten forms from a different age  
> Half-hearted truths hanging in the air with the Holy Ghost  
> I’m singing hymns with the devil in confessional
> 
> -Cascade, The Dear Hunter

  
Crowley felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness. He needed to stay awake to keep fighting. The newly added weight of his transformation left him laying in a heap, too heavy to move. He kept his eyes cracked open to at least try and see anything.

He heard new voices yelling at each other as they dipped and wove around the puppet. They just sounded like kids. They wouldn't stand a chance. He was very well aware if he had the strength to get up again that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from attacking them as well as the puppet, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He'd always liked kids. He was getting to the point where he was going to be too old to raise one, not that he could do that anymore with the transformation anyway. He just kept watching them. One of them with a sword and a gun kept himself at a distance to distract and parry while the boy with an axe would come up behind and get a good hit or two in.

They worked well together, even Crowley could tell that. They were certainly getting more hits in than he had, and that body was absolutely mangled from the damage he'd done. No matter how they hit him though, the puppet kept getting back up. It was as if there was a disconnect between the body and the inhabitant. It didn't matter if the body was broken so long as he could still move it.

The puppet had backed up from the boys and back in Crowley's direction. Crowley worked up the last bit of strength he could to spit a wad of venom at him, knowing this would be the last chance he got to get any kind of hit in.

Clearly it had just been annoying. If it had any effect at all, the only thing Crowley was aware of was the sword coming down atop his head for a final blow.

\--

The moon is sympathetic. Despite all the wrongs and the maladies.

Elsewhere, the night is progressing. Elsewhere, a hunter begins to transcend the hunt. Elsewhere, the nightmare is being slain.

Here, the moon is still sympathetic.

—

Crowley feels something soft brush against his cheek. He knows the familiar smells of the lilies before he even opens his eyes. He had assumed he would never come back to the Hunter’s Dream again. Which means he must not be quite dead yet. At least there was some good news.

The soft presence on his cheek moved to trail through his hair, brushing it back away from his face and behind his ear. Oh… oh he knew who it must be. It had to be. He wanted to keep his eyes closed, pretend he was caught between the waking world and here to keep those soft hands on him.

He opened his eyes anyway to meet those lovely baby blues. He remembered all their meetings then, how he had brushed Aziraphale off time and time again. How he had slowly opened up to him. How, finally, maybe his old self would consider him a friend.

It was a strange sensation, to know someone for the equivalent of years and yet only know them for a few hours. That's when they had met for real, in the bar, only four hours ago. Was it really that short? Had his life gone so wrong in four hours? But this Aziraphale, the one in the dream… he'd known since he started hunting over a decade ago. He'd known him since the beginning of all of his problems and he took a hunter's contract. And he forgot. Every time, he forgot. No wonder he'd been so trusting of him in the bar though...Crowley couldn't think of a single other person he'd known for half as long, even if he was just a dream.

"I know you…" he whispered, unwilling to break their contact.

"I should hope so," those gentle hands ran their fingertips through his hair again. "I've been waiting for the recognition. I knew it would have to come sometime."

Crowley immediately sat up and threw his arms around Aziraphale in a crushing hug. "I thought you were dead!"

"Oh, well, I’m- I'm not," Aziraphale replied nervously as he slowly brought his arms around to hug Crowley back. "I mean I am, well, not here, but oh. You know what I mean."

Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale's neck and warbled. "You- I never should have sent you away. I was afraid, I was afraid of changing and having you see me. And I sent you away and now- now your body's all fucked up and it's all my fault."

Aziraphale patted his back gently. "I'm sorry Crowley. It's been…awhile since I was there can you- can you remind me what's happened, exactly?"

Crowley pulled back from him and looked at his face. "What?"

Aziraphale nervously wrung his hands. "I've been in here a long time. A… very long time. I remember Azrael taking over my body, and a while back I talked to Adam about getting the possessive items off of me. But that's been… oh I don't know. Years, maybe. Everyone I meet is out of sequence. I don't know. I guess I'm being silly."

Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face in his hands. "It's not silly. It's… sad. I'm so sorry, Aziraphale. That this happened to you."

It was Aziraphale's turn to have his lip warble, but unlike Crowley his eyes stayed dry. "Just remind me what's happened."

"Well… I'm a monster. Not here, obviously, but in the waking world I'm absolutely changed. You are… not you. Your body is possessed. It stinks like death."

"It is death," Aziraphale replied. "Azrael."

"Yeah, well, he's got your body all strung up like a puppet. Your- oh no. Oh my god your body."

"What about my body?" Aziraphale asked warily.

Crowley paused, wondering exactly how he should word it. "It's uh, well, it's pretty broken."

"What do you mean, broken?" Aziraphale narrowed his eyes.

"Well I told you, I'm a big nasty monster with shit for brains and I was very, very upset you weren't you. Also there's a kid with an axe that's been wailing on it for a while."

"Oh Warlock!" Aziraphale decided to ignore the fact his body was probably just pulp at this point. "That means Adam must be there too!"

"Well, there's two boys and a dog but-"

"Oh good! Yes, that's them. They're trying to get the crown off then," Aziraphale seemed to brighten up. "I do have faith in them."

"But you- you don't have a body to go back to, don't you understand?" Crowley was starting to panic. "I don't want you to be stuck in here forever! And I'm just- I'm a monster- I can't go with you either. If I wake up I'll just be mindless again!"

"Obviously not too mindless if you came back to me."

"I'm still a beast. The second I leave this dream I'm not coming back again. Ever."

"I know what this plague is though. I've figured it out!"

Crowley stared at him, clearly not understanding. "Can you cure it?"

"Well, I don't know, but-"

"Then it doesn't matter. I'm still a beast and your body is thoroughly broken in a way no estus or blood vial or magic of any kind can fix."

Aziraphale looked over the field of lilies sadly. "But I don't want to stay here. I've been here so long, Crowley. Please. Even if it's just a way out, then I will take it."

"What are you saying? You… what do you want?"

"Bring me back with you. Go back to the hunt and awaken anew. I'll be there. I promise. I don't need a body, I have a feeling I've already been disconnected. The Lords of Cinder have granted me undeath, and I'm finally going to use it. I will never return to Lordran, Crowley. I've already accepted that."

Crowley didn't believe what he was hearing. "You want a suicide pact?"

"That's not what I'm saying, but if it is what happens, what else is there?" Aziraphale asked.

"We could stay here," Crowley gestured to the dream.

"I don't want to stay here. I've been here. I've been here for so long, Crowley, that I'm starting to forget who I was. I was already old as an undead, and now I'm even older as a dream. I cannot handle this. I'm tired, I'm done, and I want it to stop!"

Crowley shut his mouth and looked down at his hands. "Alright. If that's… if that's what you want. Then alright," He tentatively held his hand out for Aziraphale to take, focusing on the soft and gentle touch of those fingers. "Will you let me stay here a moment though? Just with us."

Before Aziraphale could answer a horrific booming resonance sounded through the air as a giant crack split open the sky. "We may not have time, dear boy. The dream is ending. My time is up. Wake us anew, Crowley. You must."

In his panic Crowley pulled him close, pressing his face one last time into Aziraphale's soft downy hair. Then, in a panic, he woke.

—

Adam was doing his best to get the crown off. Both he and Warlock were skilled at what they did, but even they knew something wasn’t quite right. For one thing, this bastard just didn’t stay down. He was quick, slowed down by several directed axe blows to his legs, but quick nonetheless. Parts of him were almost hanging off but a strange white sludge seeped from the wounds and held him together.

His attacks were brutal, the sword was sharp as anything, and close contact with him let loose the frenzy and dark spires, hitting Warlock more than once. They were lucky they both had lots of blood on them to spare the healing, but this fight wasn’t looking good.

Dog had run off to go sniffle at some dead beast in the corner, and while Adam would normally be frustrated with the little creature for not helping he was glad Dog was staying out of harm's way for this one.

The dead king turned away from Adam to swing his sword at Warlock who was coming up behind him. Adam raised his gun and took aim, firing once again at the crown.

He missed his mark, but hit the strange soul glowing above the dead king’s head right in the center as if he’d been aiming for that. The king, for the first time, staggered in his movement. Warlock's axe came down directly on top of the crown and split it, the white sludge spurt forth In a toxic pulse. Everything froze still for the briefest of moments before erupting in a blaze of fire and arcane lightning. The soul sputtered and flared itself into a roaring blaze of all consuming fire, licking up the body it was hovering over and setting alight the houses surrounding them in the alley.

Warlock screamed and backpedaled away from the fire. Lightning stroke up long arcs from the soul to any surrounding surface, leaving terrible scars and the holy white fire in its wake.

Everything was succumbing to the blaze in a matter of seconds. Adam screamed for Warlock to run and took off himself, glad to see Dog has rejoined his side in his attempts to flee.

The fire burned and roared into the sky as if it were alive. Adam turned to look once he’d gotten far enough away, the light bouncing off of all the surrounding buildings in a furious white haze. What he didn’t expect to see was Aziraphale’s body burning into nothing. He didn’t know why he assumed the dead king could survive the fire. But Aziraphale… now there was no body at all for him to come back to. The fire ate and destroyed everything it came in contact with, turning the houses into white ash and scorching the road beneath it.

The blaze turned white and almost syrupy in its movements. Adam watched in awe as a figure was born out of it, wreathed in the flame. They were formless and vague, wisps of fire and smoke clinging to them in a sense of modesty. Adam saw them turn around, looking for something, before setting their gaze on the dead beast in the street. The fire moved with them as though they were the source of it, creeping back off of the buildings and following the white figure forward.

Adam thought the beast may have raised its head as the figure came forwards, but he wasn’t sure. Regardless, the flames started to lick over it as the figure bent down, folding its delicate body over and letting the fire burn and consume them.

Warlock ran up to him, having taken another alley, and grabbed his hand. They needed to get out of there. Adam felt bad for letting Aziraphale down but there was nothing else he could do. He let Warlock guide them away, and hoped he would eventually forget tonight’s events. They had the rest of the hunt to finish, and Adam knew he had to fight the old gods who caused this.

—

Crowley was on fire. Both in the traditional sense of being burned alive, but also in the sense he felt his soul burning with it. He wanted to scream and writhe in the pain of it but gentle hands kept him still. It was eating him from the inside out, consuming and destroying everything in its path. But something new was left in its wake. Something gentle, something soft, something Crowley didn’t know what to do with.

He did wail then, screaming into nothing for the pain to finish him off. Just to let it end. Those gentle hands held him close, wrapping him in a sweet embrace he couldn’t dare escape from. He breathed a gasp of smoke and ash and turned his face into the crook of a familiar neck and screamed his pain into him. He clutched at slowly forming wisps of a body and writhed in his grasp. This was the end of him as he was.

That growing softness cut away his edges. It burned out the impurities of the blood and took the beasthood with it, leaving Crowley alive and raw and human in a loving embrace.

Then, as quickly as it had come on, the fire burned him no longer. He was still surrounded by the white blaze, and also by Aziraphale. Aziraphale who was definitely not in that broken little body he’d left behind. Crowley gripped tighter to him, holding his embrace close for all he could. Despite everything, Aziraphale was here.

He was a phantom, a specter made of holy fire and light. Still as dead as before, but now with more of a presence to back it up. Crowley just held him as the blaze died down around them. In the soft white glow he could see the backs of his hands still had scales, but they were not monstrous as they had been. He was still a beast, but still himself as well. Aziraphale had granted him time. Time to leave. Time to get out of Yharnam and away from all it’s sins.

Crowley laid in his arms for what felt like an eternity. Long enough for the gasps and pain to melt down into soft shivers. Aziraphale held him the entire time, his hands drifted in and out of being physical, but always placed gently over Crowley's self.

“Let me up,” was the first thing Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded but didn’t move. Crowley stood, slowly testing out the newness of his body. Lean but not lithe, sharpness with a dulled edge. Still a monster, scaled and clawed, but conscious and alert. He was just going to have to get used to the tail.

He saw the crown out of the corner of his eye, laying on the ground as inconspicuous as the first time. The white sludge around it was writhing in an attempt to reform. Crowley growled and walked over to it, thinking of all the hardship an act of kindness had caused them. If he’d never given this stupid crown to Aziraphale in the first place this wouldn’t have happened. He pressed his foot over top of it and crushed it under his heel, listening in satisfaction as the metal snapped and popped. The pale ichor stopped moving along with it.

He bent down to pick up the sword, pulling the bloodstone shards out of the hilt and tossing them to the ground where they shattered. He turned back to Aziraphale, who was slowly starting to stand up himself.

Crowley held out a hand to help him, pulling him to his incorporeal feet. Aziraphale sighed and spoke, his voice was soft and whispery but still audible, “Adam will finish the hunt. I told him how. I… I want to leave this place, Crowley. I don’t care where we go. I don’t care who finds us. I just want to leave.”

Crowley, who had been running from things his entire life, simply smiled. For once this was something he knew he could do. For the first time, he had someone to come with him. He wasn’t alone, and if he could help it, he never would be again. "You cured me." Crowley didn't respond to Aziraphale's request.

Aziraphale held him close, "I didn't cure you, The fire just cleansed as it always does. I didn’t know if it would work but… I'm glad it didn't burn you up. Also I'm fairly sure if you go through another Red Moon you'll be right back where you were, so, we do need to leave." His form was now solidifying down into something softly glowing and tentatively physical. "Let's go east. Or just anywhere not here."

"East huh?" Crowley handed him the sword and started to walk, leading Aziraphale by the hand. "I think I can make that happen. You really think Adam is gonna fix this mess?"

"I do. I told him what it is. He's… he's such a smart kid. And he has Warlock too. If there was anyone who could destroy this, it's him."

Crowley clenched his jaw, feeling his sharp teeth with his strange forked tongue. "Alright. But only because I don't want to be here anymore either. I've done my time. If Lucy and Beelz want to come after me I'll deal with that later."

"Oh, what a sentiment. I'm afraid I must agree." Aziraphale laughed. "You know…" he trailed off, "Gabriel might come after me."

"Tosser." Crowley replied

"You...you should know that's how I died."

Crowley turned to him, "what?"

"Gabriel. I think. I'm not sure. I never had any proof. I was poisoned. I'm the only one who was willing to tell him no to his crusade, and I think he had me killed. But I came back, and he's trying to have me killed again. I have died...what, three times now? Obviously it isn't working."

Crowley stared at him and then burst into laughter. "Well, you won't be alone this time. I have no issue with taking a bite out of him if you need me to."

Aziraphale laughed again. "I may take you up on that."

Together, they beheld the paleblood sky and turned their gaze from the Red Moon. Tonight the hunt was not theirs. Crowley would pass that metaphorical torch to Adam. For the rest, they would find their worth in the waking world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deus ex machina? In my fic? It’s more likely than you think.  
> You might say I left out the entire second half of the game, and I’d say you’re right! Because it’s my fic and I feel like it. That’s Adams problem. And he will succeed. Because he’s Adam and I say so. 
> 
> If you like the fic or my art please leave me a kudos and a comment! I’m on Instagram and twitter as birbteef and I would love to talk about GOmens.


	9. At the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This isn’t a fic content update, it’s just a dump of more art I’ve done for this AU.

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me :)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on Instagram and twitter as @birbteef


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